There's recently been a little bit of controversy in the Cincinnati area, over a billboard of all things. You might wonder if it's the WB or CW (or whatever the trashy teenager TV station is in your area) fanning the flames of suburban discontent by posting sexually explicit images of their latest barely legal teen drama rife with sex, lies and booze. That's usually the offender around here anyway. Show a little too much skin on a billboard or commercial, and somebody's bound to get twisted up about it. But no, the WB wasn't the perpetrator this time. It was this:

Billboard

*Although it is hard for me to make such a painfully personal post public, I'm going to do so, because I feel so strongly about this issue, that I want to share this with anyone who would like to read it.

Hi, my name is Prairie, and I'm a recipient of socialized medicine.

Gasp! It's such a dirty word, socialized. It means that dastardly inept behemoth known as the federal government makes life and death decisions about my care. It clearly means I must wait in long lines, and be denied access for lack of resources. I might even die before I receive life-critical care. And in the case that I'm in one of those life or death situations, it looks like a death panel  might make that fateful decision whether I live or die.

Right?

Um, not so much. I *love* the rhetoric going around about so-called socialized medicine from completely uneducated sources who have never experienced this care themselves. Except of course for the Senators and House members blustering and frothing at the mouth over the injustice of government-run and paid for care...who receive taxpayer subsidized care themselves. I can't be the only one who finds the hypocrisy hilarious.

*Ahem* Anyway. Let me tell you a little bit about government run care, since I actually know what I'm talking about. Husband and I receive all of our care at a Military Treatment Facility (MTF), a giant hospital that houses primary care, acute care, emergency care, optical, dental, surgical, cosmetic, dermatological, prenatal and labor and delivery care, and an in-house lab and pharmacy as well. Each time I need something, anything, I call the appointment line and say "I need an eye exam," or "I need to sign up for the birthing class on-base" or "I have a 102 degree fever...where do I go?" and so on. I am routed to the clinic that deals with my need, and I make an appointment. So let me tell you the kind of care husband and I and our children have received there, and what it cost us.

At the age of 7, our first child was diagnosed with Ewing's Sarcoma. After a CT scan revealed a mass on her kidney, the base referred us out to the the Children's Medical Center in the area for the highly specialized care they could offer for pediatric cancer. She had two surgeries, and subsequently spent eight months in chemotherapy and radiation for cancer. She was on weekly fluid packs that pumped drugs and fluids through her body, as well as about 10 prescriptions weekly. She had in-home nurse care to maintain her broviac catheter, a catheter that was placed in her chest, and protruded from the skin around the area of her heart for easy medicine injection. We were given all medical supplies to take care of her broviac site at home by ourselves. In fact, they gave duplicates of everything to two homes, since she lived with both her mother and us during that time. This included drugs, syringes, dressing change kits, medical gauze by the pound, even alcohol swabs. Her in-hospital meals were even provided. After remission, she was provided with monthly CT scans, and quarterly PET scans, as well as tri-monthly bloodwork to monitor her remission. Because we asked for it, the hospital gave us the bills charged to the military healthcare network. To date, her care has been over $600,000 and counting. Our Cost: $0. 

After a year of unsuccessfully trying to get pregnant when we were 28, husband and I realized something was probably wrong. I first saw an OB on-base, then a reproductive endocrinologist who began fertility testing on both of us. We underwent extensive testing, after which the endocrinologist determined intra-uterine insemination (IUI) or in-vitro fertilization would be our only option to conceive. He immediately put me on Clomid and HcG injections to begin IUI cycles. As a money saving option, they gave me patient teaching for HcG and taught me to inject myself with the necessary drugs via an 18 gauge needle  in my thigh each month. It was a bit frightening at first, but not exactly rocket science. When Clomid didn't work for me, he switched me to Tamoxifen and began giving me Estrogen pills as well. I received ultrasounds to monitor follicle size multiple times each month. I received the IUI procedures on-base, in a small office in the women's health center clinic. On the second cycle, I conceived. I got pregnant! The average cost of IUI for a couple is about $10,000, which is rarely covered by any insurance company. Our Cost: $0.  

My prenatal care for baby was on-base. I received all OB care, pregnancy lab work and exams, and prescriptions onsite. I picked up my prenatal vitamins and occasional other scripts at the in-house pharmacy. When I developed severe migraines during my second trimester, I received a MRI scan of my brain, hormone testing and audience with a maternal-fetal medicine doctor to determine treatment. Our Cost: $0.

I delivered baby at the MTF. I had a midwife, OB, and two nurses with me for the entire delivery. I had a nasty fever and infection during birth, and baby was born with signs of the infection. She was treated immediately upon birth. I also received an epidural, and multiple injections during labor to treat the fever and infection. I stayed at the hospital for three days, and they provided meals for both husband and me, and gave me a "Mom's kit" upon exit, with all of the things necessary to heal after birth. Things one would normally have to send husband to the pharmacy to get (pads, cooling foam, witch hazel pads--which I don't mention to share TMI, I mention because these are not typically hospital freebies!). In addition, baby and I were both sent home with antibiotics to treat the delivery infection. Typical cost of a birth in the United States without complications? Around $8,000. Our Cost: $0.

Ten days after baby was born, I started showing signs of infection again. High fevers, chills and general flu-like symptoms. I called my OB, and she sent me to the emergency room. Turns out I had mastitis, and retained birth matter in my uterus, causing a uterine infection. After multiple ultrasounds, I had a D&C and stayed in the hospital for four days. The hospital even issued me a free breast pump during that time so I could continue breastfeeding. Our Cost: $0.

When baby was seven months old, it became apparent that there was something wrong with her neck. She could not lift it to one side, and she had not rolled over from back to belly, nor had she made moves to crawl. She would scream excruciating bloody murder when I put her on her belly. We brought her in to the doc, to find that she had torticollis, a condition in which the neck muscle on one side has not developed properly, and becomes painfully tight. The child can usually not even lift their head to center. She was referred to Children's Medical Center, where she received three months of physical therapy to correct the condition. Our cost: $0.

And so on and so on and so on. You get the idea. I present this not to present a sunshiny image of government run medicine, but to tell you that I get what I need, and I get it in the same way one might in the private sector. The only difference? I have never received a bill, not even a piece of paper upon discharge or at any appointment. I've never made a co-pay. I've never paid for a prescription, even though our script bills between us and two kids has run into the thousands of dollars in one year's time. I had procedures not even considered by private insurance companies....for free.

Do I have complaints? Yep. Because I am not presenting a one-sided biased argument here, I will share a few.

I frequently see residents for primary care. Never for specialized care, however.

I never have to wait for acute or emergent care, but I do have to wait for primary care, unless I am ill or in immediate need. Example? When I called for my yearly eye exam one time, I was told there were no appointments available for thirty days, and I should call back when they opened the calendar for the following month. This is the only time something like this happened.

The prenatal care feels too clinical sometimes. It is not in a quiet doctor's office...it is in a clinic.

I am assigned to a team for routine or primary care, meaning I can't always get in to see my PCM, or my OB, and I might have to see one of their numerous partners.

Most of my complaints about my care revolve around the fact that the care has become less convenient for me. I sometimes have to wait in the lab to get bloodwork. Sometimes the doc has not turned in my prescription to the pharmacy and I have to wait even longer while they'll call her and track down the script. I sometimes have to argue for a referral to the private sector for specialized care. Parking sucks. With retirees, active duty and dependents served by the same facility, the patients seen at this facility number in the tens of thousands. I am especially prone to complaining when I am pregnant and forced to park in a desolate corner of the hospital lot.

I believe every petty gripe I have here is pretty common in the private sector as well. It's important for me to note that most of my complaints are tied up in the fact the this is a military facility that has been decimated by deployment of doctors, nurses and techs overseas for the war effort, thereby reducing personnel at home. I am certain that a public option would have issues of its own...but here's the bottom line: In our ten years in-service, we've racked up over a million dollars in medical care, due to some unforeseen, and nearly catastrophic medical issues in our family. And we haven't paid a dime. We are not bankrupt or drowning in medical bills, and we have NEVER BEEN DENIED care for anything. And I'm still alive. A little inconvenienced at times, but alive and healthy. And I have two children, ONLY because the government paid for the treatment of one, and the conception of the other. And for that, I am eternally grateful for my public option. And eternally humble because I got it, while others did not and continued to be denied. It doesn't seem right, does it?

I'll let the government decide my care options any day over a for-profit, soulless insurance company. 

So I have mixed feelings about the new show Community. Not surprisingly, this is probably related to the fact that I work at a community college. I cringed a little when I saw the initial commercials for the pilot because I knew that the gist of the show was going to be brutal mockery of the community college climate. Now, I'm not one who is too sensitive to laugh at the comic vulnerability of groups I belong to. There's a lot of humor to be found in marriage, the military, parenthood, my working class background, and various other aspects of my makeup. And yes, in any college there is ample humor to be found, as some of my past blog posts will evidence.

I wanted to like you, Community. On top of the fact that I am big  fan ofJoel McHale and John Oliver (anything associated with the Daily Show = good in my book) , I am craving a cure for the ailing, ridiculous excuse that is the sitcom in modern America. The cheap laugh tracks, the tired, played out jokes about marital life or the single life or parenting or, or, or...I am bored to TEARS with primetime television. I was hoping desperately for another 30 Rock or Arrested Development to break up the drivel of weeknight comedy. 

Alas, I'm disappointed. On top of the fact that the writing is lukewarm, I felt some of the jokes are a little, well, mean-spirited. About life at a community college. About the student body. About the quality of the education. I couldn't help feel a little put off by the opener to last night's show: "Higher Learning. Lower Standards. Community." They refer to the college as a "toilet shaped like a school." There are students urinating in the bushes outside a faculty member's office. The student personas are all grossly exaggerated--insulting stereotypes of single, saucy black moms; the neurotic, perky do-gooder; the befuddled, sexual-harassing geriatric; or the washed-up high school athlete still trying to relive his football glory days. Come on guys. Can't we do better than that? I mean they've made every person who attends the school on the show a complete idiot...except of course for Jeff Winger (Joel McHale) who is super cool in his disdain of his surroundings. I wasn't just put off because a two-year college was referred to as a toilet, I was a little offended on behalf of the people who start their academic journey at a two-year college. The laughs at their expense seem a little cheap. Are we supposed to believe that students at a four-year or private college are somehow better, somehow don't suffer from the totally realistic life circumstances (single parenting, going back to school later in life) that provide such cheap fodder on this show? 

So, Community, let me set the record straight for you. Let me tell you a few things about community college. While there are typical student antics, student antics are funny when they are funny, not because you make blatant and overwrought generalizations about vulnerable populations that attend two-year college. Making fun of the quality or place of education can only be funny if it's based on realistic humorous aspects of education, not you pretending like kids pissing outside an office window is an every day school occurrence and knee-slapping funny.

Here's something else: the local community college is the only place that marginalized, non-college-prepared students might find a home. A home that makes the difference between unemployment/burger flipping job prospects for the rest of their life, and a meaningful trade or profession where they contribute to the community, their families and the lives of their children. It is the place where the single mom (but not the idiot single mom of Community who bakes brownies for a crackpot protest she doesn't understand) can attend online or at night, so that she might teach her own children that college and a better life is within reach. It is the difference between being saddled with $100,000 in college debt, or half that because you started your college career at a place where the curriculum standards are exactly the same as any other institution, but half the price. It is the place (often the only place) where fundamental reading and writing (of the grammar school variety) are taught, so that the student who can't read or write beyond a fourth grade level might gain the skills sorely lacking from an appalling public school education and go on to succeed at the college level. It is a soft place to land for students lacking skill, confidence, money, the belief that college is right for them, or even the time to go to college until they are well into their 30s or beyond. It is the true definition of community: any and all are welcome here, with the goal of access to education for all.

I'm really not a soapbox here, I swear. I'm not offended by the concept of the show per se, just the low-blow humor at the expense of people like those I deal with every day. When I think of the absolutely heartbreaking stories I've heard in my years here, and the pride those students take in saying I'm finally in college! I feel a little defensive on their behalf. I would hate to think of any of my students watching this show and feeling bruised or embarrassed to be associated with an education like theirs or worse, that the idiots on the show are somehow representative of them and their fellow students. 

So, don't be surprised if, in spite of my high hopes....I'm not exactly rooting for Community to succeed. At the very least, I submit to the writers--do your homework a little better. Make it funny, not mean.       

The worst part about being required to exercise my health care at a military treatment facility is not the sometimes long waits I endure to see my doctor.

Nor is it the utilitarian appearance of the whitewashed cold, clinical rooms staffed with only the most functional and bare bones equipment.

It is not that my military hospital is a teaching hospital--meaning every procedure, even those as invasive as they get, is observed and occasionally participated in by an entourage of first year residents. 

It is not the 45 minute wait to get a prescription at the clogged hospital pharmacy.

No, it's the fact that because I'm on a military base every room, lobby and waiting area is tuned to Faux News, where I am forced to watch Karl Rove's jughead gyrating about maniacally while the little muppet obsesses over pressing, need-to-know-now critical issues like undercover ACORN stings and why Joe Wilson is really a super nice guy caught in a web of liberal conspiracy. You know, because there's not a thing more important in the U.S. going on right now than that.   

Watching programming like that, it frightens me. "News" is such a malleable concept, and it's so convenient to forget that news is, at its core, a for-profit enterprise. It's absolutely terrifying to think some people might set their moral compass by things reported as "good" or "bad" or even newsworthy. I'm so glad I chucked the steady diet of cable news some time ago. Being forced to watch it in a waiting room raises my blood pressure. 

In any event, I feel strongly that noone should be forced to start their morning with Karl Rove. It's going to take me copious quantities of tea and chocolate to recover from such a terrorizing start to the day.

The college quarter begins for us today.

After a very zen-like summer of quiet hallways, parking spots right next to the over-the-street walkway into my building, and peaceful lunchtime conversations in the empty cafes, the party is over. Or just beginning I suppose, depending on your perspective.

40,000 students descend upon the campus today for the start of the school year. It is our highest enrollment ever, and probably related to the fact that we have the least expensive tuition of any school in the state, public or private. It's funny how, in a recession, students get a little less finicky about the stereotypes associated with a community college start to education.

So now the parking garages are jammed with students simultaneously smoking a cigarette while talking on a cell phone while trying to back their SUV into a compact car spot. The hallways are teeming with with the nonstop mile-a-minute chatter of teenagers and opportunists capitalizing on the free computers and internet lining the building by surfing Myspace and Facebook instead of going to class.

In the crowd too, I see myself. Those first time students with the look of terror in their eyes at having to navigate a campus that takes up a dozen downtown city blocks. Mortified at the thought of not being able to find their classroom. Overwhelmed by the sheer volume of foot traffic clogging the route to class. I want to take those kids and walk them to class myself, and tell them it'll be okay. You'll be fine. It's not as scary as it seems.

And within a year, you'll be surfing Facebook instead of going to class, too. 

I can't be the only one who feels some of the warmth and sunshine has dwindled on Vox since LaidOutInLavender hasn't been posting.

I didn't realize I had come to rely on her almost daily posting over the past couple years...her storytelling, photos and soulful take on life in general.

*Sniff* Come back Lavender!

What is your favorite memory from your school days?
Submitted by The Cookie Jar.

There are so many, really. I think there are as many painful and awkward memories of school days as good ones, for anyone who's memory isn't clouded with nostalgia. BUT, since we are thinking of the good ones, I remember...

• That feeling. Sleeplessness the night before. The anxious pit in your stomach when the alarm went off in the morning, knowing you had to see all the same faces again, meet a new teacher, and start the year over again. It was the good kind of anxiety. The kind I wish I had a little more of these days.
  

• The smell of new leather from my sneakers. I would feverishly covet shiny new shoes all year, whichever the Cool People deemed the hot shoe for the year. I dare not name brands for fear of hopelessly dating myself here. In August, my mom would finally break down and buy our new shoes for the year. There was nothing like the gleaming white and squeak squeak all through the hallways those first few days.

• The fall. There was so much hope in the fall. The beginning of the school year, when enthusiasm and energy were high, before the winter settled in and left a soggy trail of wet boots and pant hems and scratchy, red noses. There were Halloween costumes to find, blankets to snuggle in by a bonfire, and blustery days of recess on the playground when the chill still felt energizing instead of demoralizing.

• School supplies. I can't be the only nerd who felt a surge of excitement organizing all of my new supplies each year in my little cardboard pencil box. I loved my little erasers before they were all smudged up, my glue bottle before it became encased in a crusty dried paste helmet, and my spiral notebooks before they were littered with little paper confetti pieces where I ripped out the pages. Everything was perfect and in its place. And within a week, it would be littered all over the inside of my desk with pencil shavings and forgotten graded homework and art projects. Yeah. I wasn't the most organized kid.   

Ah, good times. Mostly.

Oscar Mayer Wienermobile crashes into Wis. home

Wiener rampage

Not what I expected to see on the "news" page this morning, but what a delightful departure from the everyday drivel parading as news. The Wienermobile? Totally newsworthy. I have laughed and laughed all morning...do I know why? No. Maybe it was all of the interesting subtitles that came to mind upon seeing the headline and picture.

It was just what I needed this morning to start the week out on a light note.