A couple days ago, as I was feeding ZGirl’s first bottle of the day, I heard my husband’s cell ring and he answered. Since I was in ZGirl’s room and he was in the kitchen, I could only hear the mumblemumblemumble of a one-sided conversation typical of a phone exchange, which went on for several minutes.

ZGirl was almost finished with her bottle and when it was gone, so was I, or I had hoped. I had made plans to take a trip to The Metro to get out of Dodge, so to speak. The mumblemumblemumble of the conversation became louder as Mr. DD walked towards and then into ZGirl’s room. He paused and said, “Your dad’s in the hospital,” and then he continued the alternate speaking/listening on the phone.

I sat agape at him with a million questions even though in my head I was like, “Dang. I guess I won’t be going to The Metro now,” (selfish, much?). I could hear my brother on the other end of the phone. Soon, Mr. DD and I traded, baby for the phone, and my brother began the story again.

Dad was out petting the horses in the early afternoon and while doing so, one of them smashed their head into my dad’s face. While he doesn’t think so, my brother believes that he was probably knocked out for a bit. My dad ended up on the ground (a good stiff wind would knock his 80 yr old slight frame down) and unable to get up. He crawled 200 yards plus to the house, got out of his over’alls, and went to lay on the couch.

My mother, who arrived home after work, didn’t go into the house but went to help my brother instead with the cattle. When she finally got into the house at 8:30, there was my dad, in the same spot for the past few hours. He said that he might have to go to the hospital. My brother was called to the house and he took the reins and called 911.

My dad suffered a fracture to the hip socket. Besides trying to manage the pain and keep him as mobile as possible to reduce the risks of clots, there’s nothing really they can do. As part of the routine work-up, a chest xray revealed a small mass on one of his lungs. They will rule out TB and then refer him to a pulmonologist. Yes, my dad is a smoker. Rolls his own, in fact, so what little protection filters were ever designed to do, was – and is – nonexistent.

Almost three days later, watching him writhe in pain in the hospital bed when the nursing staff put on his socks, I marvel that he was able to get from the pasture to the house – and on his hands and knees. Only a stubborn, old coot would be able to do something like that, and my dad is the most stubborn, the oldest, and the cootiest of all. It has served him well.


After weeks of ZGirl being sick with an upper respiratory infection of one kind or another, I wonder some days if she will ever be well again. Seriously, how many colds and ear infections will she have?

Then the other day we noticed that out of nowhere, a growth had appeared on her upper lip. I wish I could say it was a “beauty” mark, but it was anything but.

It was large and raised and had a rough surface. It even had a crater-like center.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, it disappeared.

We took pictures, but I’m not sure if we should take her to see yet another doctor.

Below is the picture. Brace yourself. It’s rather graphic.














Snot makes a pretty good glue.

If you’re really desperate that is.


It had to happen. A bill has been introduced by Georgian Senator Ralph Hudgens.

Section 19-7-67(a) reads: “Where a woman under age 40 is to receive treatment using her own eggs or embryos created using her own eggs, whether fresh or previously cryopreserved, at the time of transfer no person or entity shall transfer more than two embryos in any treatment cycle, regardless of the procedure used.” 

If a woman is over 40, and therefore stands a lower chance of a successful pregnancy in a given month, the bill raises the limit to three implanted embryos.

Hudgens? You’re an idiot. Did you even do any research or is this what you and one of your physician buddies talked about over lunch last week? A woman’s fertility actually begins to decline in her mid-30’s; significantly after 35. HOWEVER…that’s in women who are “normally” fertile, therefore the odds of them pursuing IVF at any point are rather slim (unless you are Angelina since she’s fertile but impatient).

Will you also amend your bill the first time a woman ends up pregnant with quads due to both embryos splitting and developing so that it states she MUST have selective reduction? Obviously she and her pesky babies will become a financial burden on the system as I can’t seem to recall an instance where quads were any less risky than quints, septs, or even…OCTUPLETS!

While you’re at it, Hudgens, maybe you should write more one-shoe-fits-all legislative bills on treatments for other medical conditions. Let me shoot you some ideas: since it’s expensive to go through chemotherapy or radiation for the treatment of breast cancer, you should write a bill that women are only allowed to get bilateral mastectomies. Just lop off those pesky boobs. I think that might even be a great idea for men with testicular cancer: just ‘snip-snip’ those baubles.

More medical restrictions? Let’s cut our Medicare costs by no longer covering hip and knee replacement surgeries in people over the age of 65. I mean, what the heck are they going to do with a new hip or knee anyway? Hit the Dancing with the Stars circuit? Those surgeries easily run $40,000 to $80,000, especially if you get one of those fancy hip components made of titanium. Again, why bother? Do the elderly really need a component that will last 100 years when they may actually only live for another 5, 10 or good grief, 20 years?? Why not just make the components out of cedar? It’s rot resistant, plus it’ll repel moths.

If we are talking about what doctors or entities are allowed to do, then they should propose a bill that requires DNR orders for patients over the age of 80, because it’s a fact that once a patient has coded and is resuscitated, their medical care expenses shoot through the roof! Any physician who resuscitates said patients should then be required to pay for the subsequent care, right?

By the way, did you know that Medicare will pay for penile implants? Oh, yes, they do, and those puppies aren’t cheap, either.

It’s a ridiculous proposition and most likely why AMA has only been able to come up with guidelines in ART. If the government is so bloody worried about who can or cannot afford to have children, then maybe they should require a credit application prior to a couple trying to conceive. And if the couple don’t have proof of being fiscally solvent after the birth of a child, said child should be whisked away and given to the couple who have proven they ARE fiscally sound but infertile.

See how stupid that all sounds? It’s just an echo of things to come down the old governmental poop chute under the clang and rattle of the outraged citizen penned in cages of ignorance.


ETA: I swear, I did not know that Julie posted about this same issue. I created this posts after I read the news and have to forward a draft to my email since I don’t have access to anything blog related at work. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery after all, and in case there’s any confusion over that statement, I don’t believe anyone is imitating me.


Have you seen the headlines that are making a hullabaloo about “designer babies”?

Huh. I’m still waiting for the moment I feel shocked and outraged as most will and do.

Selecting desirable traits during IVF/PGD has been going on since PGD has been available. Sure, it’s not used to narrow down a potential baby’s physical traits like being blond and blue-eyed. That’s being done when couples select their donor, whether it’s egg or sperm. Or hey, when two people of opposite sex who are actually both fair-haired and light-eyed actually create their own baby without IVF!

We got our blue-eyed, blond-haired baby. Of course it was purely coincidental and might be because I went down to the street kiosk and got myself a knock-off Designer Baby (made of genuine pleather, I assure you) by some fast-talking charlatan. Shhh. Don’t tell anyone.

Selection of  “desirable” traits via ART is certainly nothing new. When Mr. DD and I first were faced with using donor sperm, we both knew that we wanted to find someone who was similar to Mr. DD in height, weight, eye color, hair color, and yes, ancestry. When we then traveled the donor egg road, even though our ability to select characteristics was extremely limited, we had a preference then, too.

Isn’t it what all parents want: a child that looks a certain way or has certain abilities? One of the physicians interviewed stated that parents may end up putting unrealistic expectations on children that they selected to be either more athletic or more intelligent, but ended up with something other. I can tell you from experience that while I had hoped XBoy would have ended up with his father’s athleticism and my mental abilities – albeit limited on both parts – he did not on either front. Much like I had hoped he’d have ended up with Mr. DD’s green eyes and wavy hair and my build. Again, not so much. But do I love him less? In fact, I love him more because I learn so much each time we discover something new.

I would also have to argue that man has been doing this long before he even became man. If all cavewomen had been a little more particular about their men hundreds of thousands of years ago (or six thousand, depending on your view of evolution), we wouldn’t have men today with hairy butts and fuzzy backs, and the cursed unibrow would have gone the way of dinosaurs (when Jesus was taming them). Trust me, my ancestors must not have been too particular in their own selection of mates.

These Designer Babies will be geared towards the rich, as stated in the article. So what? If nothing else, we all know that a child can be given literally everything in their young lives necessary to become productive assets in today’s society and still end up splashed across the front page of some tabloid passed out in their own vomit with no panties on or dead from an accidental overdose. It’s not like in 500 years Designer Babies will become mute and child-like while the loud, ugly sub-humans live underground feeding on their tasty white flesh. And if it does? Obviously then their plan will have backfired.


Those with the cash can go right ahead and put in their orders with absolutely no guarantee that they will get what they want in a baby (much less even get pregnant (unless they are using Nadja’s miracle RE)), but ultimately any children are judged not on their appearance or physical prowess, but by whether or not they are decent human beings.


Had typed out one of my funniest and informative posts ever and wordpress kicked me out because I walked away in the middle to go eat my sloppy joe.

*insert swearing here *


ZGirl has had some seriously high, high fevers – 101+ – over the past couple of days.

Two weeks ago, doctor visit: just a cold.

Last week, a doctor visit: pink eye, chest congestion.

Last night, doctor visit: influenza (nope, swab was negative); pneumonia (nope, negative chest xrays); she’s got an infection.

This afternoon, a doctor visit: ear infection, again! In both ears, again!

This time I remember to tell the pharmacy to flavor the AB. Unfortunately, didn’t realize that the doctor who saw my daughter, who knows we go to a day care, who prescribed nebulizer treatments 3x a day, also decided to write the script for albuterol in the mix-it-yourself variation. *insert more swearing here*

Maybe I’m just crabby because I have a UTI, the first in oh, 20 years? And all I had to do to get a script was call my OB.

Nah. I’m just darn crabby.


It’s a good thing I’m sending XBoy to a Catholic school or else I wouldn’t know that it was Lent. I totally blew off Ash Wednesday. Not that I would have done anything different, but you know, I like to keep on top of things around me.

My son has magnanimously decided to give up his Nintendo DS for Lent. Without any prompting whatsoever from us. As kids, Mom would make us give up chocolate with only St. Patrick’s Day giving any reprieve with the traditional gold-foiled wrapped chocolate coins. It only became a hardship when I reached my teen years and something called “PMS” would drive me to the brink.

After I left home, I didn’t partake in this particular custom surrounding Lent. Until I had XBoy, that is.

So I’ve decided that this year for Lent, I’m going to give up swearing on my blog.

I think that’s a rather impressive if you consider that out of  1,060 published posts, I’ve said “fuck” in 215 of them. That’s not taking into consideration all the other four-letter words I’ve dropped without nary a second thought.

So….what did you give up for the Lenten season?


My husband went to his friend’s surprise birthday party in S.D. yesterday while I stayed home. No biggie as I hate road trips.

When he got home last night he was telling me about this person and that person and yadayadayada. One of the other guests was happily consuming some chicken as the party was at a restaurant. Another guest said in disgust, “I can’t believe you’re eating chicken! They eat their own poop you know.”

The other guest basically ignored her and continued with his meal.

My husband, ever on the ready for something smart to say, asked, “You know why chickens eat their own shit?”

“No…” she replied.

“Because it tastes like chicken.*”


If you have heard that joke before, my apologies for lack of originality on the behalf of Mr. DD.