La "Quaint"

     Because the room rate for the Hampton Inn we have been staying in for our previous Seattle trips had gone up over $40 per night, exceeding the $150 limit given by Reed's employers, I booked our latest stay at the Seatac La Quinta. Its summer rates were still affordable and it was literally across the street from the Hampton. Also desirable was that it provided breakfast. I have never stayed at a La Quinta, but was willing to give it a shot. I knew it was an older hotel but it has, for the most part, been updated and kept in good repair. I don't really know how to describe why I didn't like it. It didn't help that there was a construction barrier in the lobby because one of the elevators is broken, that the narrow hallways had chipped paint and doors, that the room was small and looked out on a parking tower. I'm afraid the main reason I didn't like it is because I've become a hotel prima dona over the years. It was way nicer than the motels my family stayed in when I was a child. And not that many years ago, I would have been happy to stay there. La Quinta is the Spanish equivalent of a country villa. The word quinta means fifth, not as in "a good place to drink a fifth", but because such farm villas paid a fifth of their income in taxes. Sadly, that has not changed much. But to me Quinta is an anagram for Quaint. Somehow, in spite of being fairly clean and updated, it still seemed shabby underneath.
     Reed was watching me for signs of "aah factor" the shoulders relaxed, deep breathing sensation I get at most of the places we stay. There was not going to be any aah factor at the La Quinta, and we, mostly me, were going to be there for eight days. So that evening we walked to the Hampton to see if  looking pathetic in person made a difference in the room rate. Alas, no. It was Tulip Festival, the cruise season has started. As I knew from checking rates before we came, Seattle is in summer mode. But helpful Monte at the front counter called his counterpart at the Aloft Hotel next door and said to try there. Sammie managed to give us the rate they give airline employees, a price which does not go up in tourist season. Not only that, but she upgraded us to a large, corner room with a similarly large bathroom.
     Aside from feeling we are too old for the vibe of this hotel, I am aah-fully content here. It is brand new, everything high efficiency, so high efficiency they are already having to redo wiring, but  somehow I don't mind the construction here, even when it is right outside my door. The sparse, furnishings are minimalist, some look like oversized Lego pieces. As in Europe, your key card controls the electricity so the lights go out when you do. You have to pay for your food and most of it is disgusting healthy. But if you choose not to have daily maid service, you get a $5 per day "green voucher" to use as you wish. In case you actually want to eat organic quinoa or, ironically, get a drink at the bar. I do not, but I am cheap and will use the money for food that is minimally healthy. There are only two drawers in which to unpack, but I am actually storing some of the things I would normally put in a nightstand in our in-room safe. I don't think there is a laundry room here. This hotel is for hip young business travelers who have enough energy to do more than watch TV after work--but apparently not do laundry. There is a pool table, a bar and music in the lobby. Or so I've noticed when we return from dinner to go watch TV in our room. Actually, we are mostly reading, not only reading, but reading digital media. That is about as close to young hipsters as we get. We would still prefer the homey Hampton to the green Aloft, but at least it ain't "Quaint".
   

Holding On

     I've been pondering why I walk so much better when holding my husband's hand. It was necessary to hold his arm after my knee replacements because my knees know a trick most others don't--When in doubt, give out.  My surgeon said it was an uncommon brain stem reaction. Interesting, but not very helpful since, like most people, I have little control over my own brain stem. My knees also had ADD. Any distraction from the task of walking would cause them to give out. To this day, my left knee does not remember how to pivot. So for a long time I had to hold Reed's arm to make up in husband what I lacked in stability. (I'm sure Reed would like to expand upon this point.) But now, years later, I still find I walk better when I hold his hand. Perhaps the minor focus of that touch keeps my knees from being distracted by other things. When I am shopping in crowded stores, I've noticed barely touching the racks helps me walk better. I'm considering an experiment of walking with my thumb pressing on one of my fingers like my chiropractor did for muscle testing. That way I could, in effect, hold my own hand.
    Similarly, some of the medications they now use for MS serve in that decoy capacity. In order to keep the patient's body from attacking its own myelin sheathing over the nerves, these drugs essentially say, "Look over here! Focus on me! These are not the droids you're looking for." Maybe that is what the unconscious pressure of holding hubby's hand does for my knees, perhaps they return to muscle memory mode. Or perhaps it's just the knowledge that if I start to stumble, I can count on him to hold me up. Either way it is a wonderful allegory for the Christian walk. We all stumble but we won't, ultimately, fall.  Even in those times when we don't want to hold our Savior's hand, He is holding ours.

Human Petrie Dish

    As I mentioned on Facebook recently, I have been in a vicious antibiotics cycle. Ever since I got artificial knees six years ago, I had to take amoxicillin before my twice yearly dental cleanings. Because of that frequency, I developed an allergic reaction to amoxicillin. Because of that allergy, for my recent wisdom tooth extraction I was given clyndamicin. I did not have an allergic reaction to that, I got C-Dif, which is what happens when antibiotics kill off the good bacteria in your intestines and leave the thugs to proliferate. Colons are unhappy with the thugs and attempt to "eliminate" them. My colon was so bent on elimination, I could not go anywhere a bathroom wasn't handy. Because of the C-Dif, they gave me--you guessed it--antibiotics. Big gun antibiotics that aim specifically for the intestines--vancomycin. One of the potential side effects of vancomycin is hearing loss, and I know people this has happened to. It is permanent. And it's really important to finish the entire vancomycin prescription or you can wind up with the brain-eating zombie version of intestinal bacteria.
     The (probably overcautious) reason for giving dental patients antibiotics before having their teeth cleaned, is the (probably exaggerated) fear that bacteria from the gums will enter the bloodstream and infect the artificial joint. I can just picture two newly freed germs discussing this:

   First germ, "So, where do you want to go now?"
   Second germ, "I know this new joint where we can hang out."

    At a time when unnecessary (which used to be considered medically necessary) antibiotic use is being discouraged by physicians, it is encouraged in dentistry even though there is very little data to  justify it. Even in those rare occurrences of infection, it appears to be related to diabetes, bleeding disorders or poor oral hygiene, not gum disturbance by itself. In a few years, I expect they will reverse the recommendation because the danger of antibiotic resistance far outweighs the odds of artificial joint infection.
    That is what happened to my husband. He went through his entire childhood dental visits without prophylactic antibiotics. When we moved to Kalispell, he was told he had to have them because he had rheumatic fever as a child. After about 25 years of taking pre-meds, his dentist said they were not necessary. Oopsy! Antibiotics can be discontinued but the bitter pill to swallow is there is no "undo" function on a prescription bottle. So I have no intention of taking premeds before my upcoming teeth cleaning and probably for any after that. I will gladly sign a waiver but, unless they can show me hard data linking teeth cleaning to artificial joint infection in a healthy person whose surgery healed years ago, I will not waver. I have no interest in being the human petrie dish for a study on the lifecycles of bacteria.

The Changing of the Guard

        The Changing of the Guard

At dusk we see the changing of the guard

as sun gives way to moon and stars.

Horizon flaunts a robe of purple hue,

tree branches reach toward skies of twilight blue.

Leave to the stars and moon to keep

their careful watch while we’re asleep.

And when their duty’s duly done,

in radiant garments comes the sun.

So has it been since time began

the Sovereign’s colors shown to man,

each dusk and dawn heaven’s curtains part

for the changing of the guard.

If Employers Said What They Meant

• We can't find anyone willing to work--for what we're willing to pay.
• We reward faithful employees--with extra responsibility, but not extra money.
• We reward whiners with light duty--so we don't have to deal with them.
• Smokers get twice as many breaks as non-smokers--because they get obnoxious otherwise.
• Non-smokers don't need breaks--because they won't complain. 
• Dependable employees who call in sick--will be treated with suspicion.
• Slackers who call in sick will not be questioned--the same amount of work gets done, and it's a relief when they're not around.
• Workman's compensation is available--but drama queens get more.
• Please stay home when you're sick--unless we really need you.
• Blame will be recognized--achievement will not.
• Annual reviews--are not annual and do not involve raises.
• Problems with coworkers should be reported--we'll ignore them, unless there is a shooting.
• Leadership positions are available--to those not stupid enough to already work here.
• A college degree is rewarded with higher pay--experience in the actual field counts for nothing.
• Job training depends on the kindness of your coworkers--we will only tell you if you're doing it wrong.
• Employees nearing retirement--may be fired capriciously, or abused into quitting.
• We expect less from millennials--it's like a disability.
• Mandatory company meetings--are usually a huge waste of time.
• Resumes should include--meaningless jargon.
• Incompetent employees--are easier to promote than get rid of.
  

The Life He Has Now

    This poem is along the same thoughts as the previous one for Roddy. Unfortunately, I do not know my cousin Rusty very well because we lived so far apart, his family in Sacramento, mine in Missoula. I barely knew him before his accident, but he now lives in the Boise area, and we used to travel there frequently for Reed's work. Uncle Ed and Rusty would meet us for dinner when we were in the area and, though his slow speech is hard to understand, I have come to know some things about Rusty. For one thing, He knows the Lord and that gives us more common ground than being cousins ever could. For another, he is perpetually smiling and seems content with his life. 

    The reason for this poem is to address "quality of life" because it is used as societal justification for both abortion and euthanasia. The problem is neither individuals nor our culture has any right to determine quality of life on another's behalf. Quality does not come from having perfect genes, or health, or family life, or any other external factor. It comes from the attitude of the individual, and that cannot be determined by a genetic test, physician, or mental health counselor. As I've said before, handicapped or not, people are generally as happy or unhappy as they choose to be.

 The Life He Has Now

My cousin Rusty went from being

a tall, handsome high school quarterback

to a rodeo riding, horse trainer,

married, with a young son.

A horse accident turned him into

a brain injured paraplegic--

no longer married.

Much has been taken from him,

but not his love for God, or horses

or enjoyment of life.

He requires assistance,

but lives in his own apartment.

A motorized wheelchair

lets him navigate his small town.

A computer gives him access to

the horses he cannot ride,

and relatives he cannot visit.

In these days of assisted suicide,

he might have let the injury-induced depression

determine the end his life.

I’m sure he misses the life he had,

the things he cannot do.

But he would also miss

the life he has now.

Our times are in God’s hands.

But the quality of each man’s life

is in his own.

4/7/2018

But Roddy Didn't Know That

    Here is another poem about one of my favorite subjects, and people.

            But Roddy Didn’t Know That

By the time newborn Roddy’s

blood incompatibility problem was diagnosed,

much damage had already been done

to his brain, and muscles, and hearing.

The baby was not expected to survive,

enjoy any quality of life or, at best,

live more than a few years.

But Roddy didn’t know that,

so he lived.

The doctors didn’t think he would walk or talk.

He would live as a vegetable,

best put him in an institution right away,

before the family got too attached.

But Roddy didn’t know that,

So he learned to walk and talk,

not as quickly as other toddlers,

and not without therapy,

but he learned.

He wore leg braces, for a time,

a back brace for scoliosis, required a hearing aid

attended disabled classes, learned to ride a bike.

The boy who was not expected to live or progress

graduated from high school, learned to drive, got a job, bought a car,

and came to know Jesus as his Savior.

And because Roddy knows that,

he also understands that all his limitations

won’t last long.

He loves watching sports, a variety of music

from Buck Owens to Jimi Hendrix.

He goes to Griz games and concerts,

visits his sisters in Kalispell

and, increasingly, does the driving for our aging Dad.

He works hard and saves his money

and, as much as is possible, takes care of himself.

Because Roddy didn’t know

some men don’t.

He loves his family, enjoys travel,

and understands technology better than I

He regrets being single,

but not his years living with Dad.

Though his life has not had the “quality” of others’,

by our culture’s definition,             .

he lived, and continues to live, a full life.

Because Roddy didn’t know

that he couldn’t.