Would you like a loan to go with that sandwich...

This week I saw a Genetic Specialist. I went alone and it turned out to be an interesting trip. I was worried about going b/c I had lost all the papers and didn't have a family tree to turn in. I kept imagining the dr becoming angry and telling me to come back when my homework was done. Why didn't I have the paperwork? Because I made the appt last summer and they mailed the papers and I was supposed to go in January but 2 days before the appt, they called and said the Specialist had a baby early and could I come back in July. So of course, you can't expect me to find any paperwork in this house that came a year ago. So I show up and instead of a dr, it's a Genetic Counselor who comes in. I immediately go into the whole "I'm so sorry I don't have my family tree completed, I have no papers, I was supposed to come in January but someone had a baby...", to which she replied "that was me, except I didn't have a baby, I had 2 babies". And then she tells me she already has my family tree. I'm sure the look on my face was priceless. How in the world did she get my family tree. She then tells me she took a whole history over the phone and I didn't remember even talking to her, then I remembered, oh, yeah, this is the lady that asked if my husband and I are related in any way. So she spends over an hour with me, going over everything I needed to know and answering all my questions. Then the dr comes in and spends about 2 minutes, asking if I had q's and did I understand what the counselor had just told me and then she left. That really irritated me b/c I spent an hour talking with the Genetic Counselor, who probably doesn't make beans for a living, who confessed she is having trouble paying for childcare for her preemie twins, and I'll bet that dr made all the money for that visit.
So anyway, they took blood and told me to come back in 2 months for the results. Since I have Greta, my handy dandy Australian gps friend, I am very comfortable making the drive up to Barnes and back alone. However, I was worn out and hungry when I left the appt (I was, at this time, 5 days into my no-carb diet and I was really craving a sandwich...but that's another post). So Greta tells me to turn left and I begin to argue with her. She says turn, I say no, she says Recalculating, then she says turn, and I continued to argue with her until finally I gave in when I realized I was in a questionable neighborhood.
I'm so hungry at this point, I decide I have to have a sandwich. I know from my days of eating carbs that there is a Jimmy Johns in the corner of a strip mall at the Festus exit. So I take the exit, park on the side of the building, walk in and discover I'm at a bank, not a Jimmy Johns. That's right, I pretty much tried to order a sandwich at a bank. I had thought when I pulled up that it was odd to see a sign in a Jimmy Johns window that said "ask us about small business loans". But in my carb-deprived mind, I really thought I was in the right spot. So I had to get back in the car and drive over to the next strip mall to get my carb fix.
And I didn't share any of it with Greta.

No Sip Sirwhat

Can you stand just 1 more work story? I am pulling this one out of the vault and then closing the doors for awhile. This is a classic work story I have told many times.
Years ago, when I was working at the outpatient clinic at the Hospital, I had a 4 yr old that came for therapy 3 times a week. If you know anything about therapy, you know that 3 times a week is a lot and that must mean this child's speech was REALLY delayed. He was basically unintelligible. One day, as we sat at the table, I stated something that was obvious and without even looking up, he said "No Sip, Sirwhat", to which I replied "what?". Again, he shrugged his shoulders and said "No Sip, Sirwhat". My mind instantly began to run thru the sounds this child could not say- sh, l, k. I then realized exactly what this child was telling me.
The kid's mom and brother just happened to be listening and watching thru the observation window. When I realized what he had said, I asked "where did you learn that", to which he replied "my brother".
Remember the scene in Christmas Story, when you can hear the mom on the phone, beating her son b/c he had taught Ralphie a bad word? That scene played itself out on the other side of the window. Big Brother was in Big Trouble. I could hear him trying to defend himself, but it was of no use. He was caught.
No Sip Sirwhat has become a common phrase in our house. The girls don't even know what it means or where it came from but it is a staple of our household vocabulary.
So leave a comment and let me know something so obvious, it will leave me shaking my head, saying No Sip Sirwhat.