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Monday, October 29, 2012

You're not the boss of me!

I was a little shocked to read  the Central Health Board Authority  put a policy in place that says workers have to get a flu shot or face being sent home without pay if they are sick.

I don't work for Central Health or in the health care field at all but I do have a huge problem with this policy.

How far can an employer go when it comes to what you want or don't want to put in your body?

I had the flu shot a few years ago and I was sick every other week for a year. I swore I would never get it again and I am not! I am in reasonably good health. l take my vitamins including my vitamin C. My immune system is good. I fight off the flu at a pretty fast rate although I have had a few that kept me in bed for a few days. But that's normal.

What's in a flu shot? According to Google: In a flu shot which is actually a shot and not the mist there is the dead virus. It is the actual flu that is dead and then they make it into a shot to administer it into the body in order to help fight off the actual flu.

So you want to shoot me up with a dead flu virus so I don't get the flu! Not happening!

The real question here is how far can an employer go when it comes to your body. Well if they can force you to be injected with a virus against your will, how about forcing you to take contraception?

What about if an employer says, "Well we have a lot of young women on our payroll. I don't want them all getting pregnant at once so our new policy says all women of child bearing years cannot get pregnant until they have been with the company for five years. If you get pregnant without my permission you'll be fired."

Sounds ridiculous I know, but is it really? If an employer could stop women from taking a year off to raise babies would he?

Does an employer own your body as well as your mind?

How about telling women if they are allowed to have an abortion? Even after rape? US Presidential candidate, Republican Mitt Romney, stood behind Indiana Senate hopeful Richard Mourdock who said pregnancies that result from rape are "something God intended."

Not my God. He didn't intend that.

For a long time politicians with penises have been trying to tell those of us with vaginas what we are and are not allowed to do with our vaginas. 

Those same politicians with penises make laws that tell us who can touch our vaginas (apparently only people with penises like them) and who can live in our vaginas (Only straight babies whether they were a result of consensual or non-consensual sex).
 
Some people with penises even try to tell us at what age we should stop using our vaginas (older women don't need sex).

People with penises should not be sticking their nose in our vaginas any more than an employer should be sticking their nose in our immune system!

I'd like to say it's all too foolish to talk about but is it? Think about it.

You have to be injected with a virus to keep your job.  What stops an employer from making a person sign an agreement saying they won't get pregnant and take maternity or paternity leave for the first five years of employment?  Where does it end

Ever since Eve took the apple off the tree people with penises have been debating and making laws telling those of us with vaginas what we can and can't do with our vaginas for years. 

There are no laws about what people with penises can do or not do with their penis.

Is it legal to force an employee to be injected with a virus when they don't want it? I'll leave that up to the legal experts.

Is it immoral? Yes. I think so. Our employers may have our minds but our bodies belong to us.

This is my body. Don't stick your fingers in my immune system and while you're at it, take them out of my vagina too!

You're not the boss of me!

Monday, October 22, 2012

Paying to pee, parking meters and basic TV

Remember when you used to have to pay to pee at the mall? The urge would strike in the middle of Woolco and you would run to the bathrooms at the back of the store only to find out you didn't have a dime to put in the door. I guess employees at Woolco got tired of cleaning up pee on the floor and decided to let you have this basic human need for free.

Smart choice I think. There's some things you shouldn't make money off. Pee is one. Healthcare is another.
I remember one time when my daughter was about nine, she had the flu. It got worse by the hour. She was throwing up continuously and couldn't keep so much as a glass of water down. Her fever shot through the roof and I decided to take her to the Janeway Children's Hospital. The only reason I waited was a raging storm was happening outside and I didn't want to drive when the roads were snow covered and slippery.

I put her in her snowsuit, belted her in the minivan and made my way to the Janeway slipping and sliding all the way.
When I got to the Janeway parking lot there wasn't a space available. The lot was full. So I had to park in the Health Science's parking lot. By the time I found a spot she was sound asleep. I lifted her 90 pound body in my arms and made my way across the stormy lot like I was walking through the Arctic tundra. The snow plough had made a four foot high wall of snow around the lot and I bravely scaled it without dropping my daughter .

By the time I got to the Janeway I looked like a nomad that had been wandering the ice plains for years. I was exhausted and ready to pass out myself. After a four hour wait we finally got to see a doctor who confirmed she had pneumonia and needed antibiotics.
I bundled her back up and made the long track back to the minivan only to find I had a parking ticket!

A parking ticket!
Steam was coming out of my ears! In my rush to get my sick child through a storm to see a doctor I forgot to put money in the parking meter. I was furious. Why the hell should I have to pay this ticket. I wasn't in shopping. I had a child with pneumonia. A 90 pound child that I had carried through a snow storm, sat in a waiting room for four hours with and then carried her back to my van. I should have been given a frigging Olympic medal for the Mom triathlon! Not a parking ticket. 

When I went to leave my van was stuck in the snow. I had to keep putting it in drive and reverse till I could rock it out of the parking space. By this time my anger level was at an all time high. I put it in reverse and floored it. The van jumped out of its tracks and flew back a good two feet, hitting the meter. I got out to look. The pole was bent a little and the head of the meter slightly hung down in shame. So I kicked it and said "You deserved that you bastard!"
Why are there meters in hospital parking lots? Oh, so the university students don't park there and take up spaces all day. Really? There's not a better way to monitor that? We found Bin Laden but we can't catch a poor starving student trying to freeload at the hospital?

Another thing. What's up with the TV rentals. My 85 year old Mother was in hospital for weeks. Her kidneys are failing, a valve in her heart is leaking and her body is dying. She loves her soap operas. It would kill her to die and not know what was happening on Days of Our Lives. So she rented a TV with basic cable.
$11.50 a day plus tax! That's what they charged this dying senior on a fixed income! Who the hell is making money off my dying Mother and her soap operas?

Are you telling me the Department of Health can't negotiate a better deal than that? That they can't buy cable for the hospital and give it to patients for free? This is so wrong!
What happens to the people who can't afford to pay $11.50 a day. They just lay there in bed all day staring out the window. They're forced to eat hospital food three times a day. Aren't they suffering enough? You're telling me the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador can't afford free TV for the sick? Didn't they donate a million dollars to Haiti? What about our poor?

There's an old saying, "You judge a country, in our case province, by how it treats its most vulnerable, its poor, it sick, its weak."
There are some things you shouldn't have to pay for in life: When you want to pee, when you need a parking space at the hospital because you're sick and a TV when you're hospitalized.

If I have to pay an extra few cents in taxes to cover that, so be it. A dying woman should not have to miss her soap operas because she's broke. A nine year old girl with pneumonia shouldn't be given a parking ticket. A women with a bladder problem shouldn't have to pee  in her pants because she doesn't have a dime and governments should not have to be shamed into doing the right thing.
It's 2012. When it comes to healthcare our energy should be targeted at finding specialists to work in the hospital, not bickering over TV bills and parking lot slot machines.

Let's use our common sense. Get rid of the meters and ask Rogers for a good deal on cable.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

The secret to a good marriage is pot-roast

A happy marriage is easy to achieve if you know what you're doing. I discovered early in mine that a pot-roast can greatly improve it.

Hubby never wants anything fancy. His idea of spice is salt and pepper. He's a meat and potato kind of guy. We take turns cooking. He BBQ's like a pro and I do my cooking in the kitchen.
Every morning for almost twenty years the first question he asks in the morning is "What's for supper?" Then he'll call me at some point during the day, make small-talk and slip in "What's for supper?" He'll call when he leaves the office to ask how my day was and ask nonchalantly "What's for supper?"

About ten years into the marriage I started to notice a pattern. In the morning when he asked "What's for supper?" If I told him "Spaghetti" He'd be in a bad mood. He'd call during the day and ask "What's for supper?" and I'd repeat "Spaghetti" and he'd go on about what a bad day he had. Then he'd call on his way home and ask "What's for supper?" and I'd say "Spaghetti" and he'd say how exhausted he was and how he wasn't even that hungry.
Then I noticed when he asked in the morning "What's for supper?" and I said "Fried cod" he'd be a little happier. He'd call during the day to ask "What's for supper?" and I'd say "Fried cod." He'd say his day was ok and we'd hang up. Then he'd call on his way home and ask "What's for supper?" and I would repeat "Fried cod."Then he'd say he was tired but hungry.

One morning he asked "What's for supper?" I said "Pot roast." He jumped out of bed and skipped to the shower. He was all smiles and jokes and before he left he asked "What kind of pot roast?" "Pork" I told him. He skipped out to his truck and went to work. He called me half way through the day and asked "What's for supper?" "Pork roast" I assured him. He went on and on about how great his day was and how much he loved his job. Then he called when he left work and asked "Are we still having pork roast for supper?" He sounded like a kid asking "Is Santa coming tonight?"
So I decided to experiment on him and started changing around some variables. In the mornings when asked "What's for supper?" I'd say "Pot roast." He'd skip to the shower as usual. Then when he called during the day to ask "What's for supper" I'd say "Pot roast" then wait a few seconds and say "With salt meat." I could hear him jumping  up and down with happiness. Then he'd phone on his way home and ask "How much salt meat did you put on?" I felt like a dominatrix at this point and say "The whole bucket." It would take his breath away. I thought he would pass out with happiness.

Then I'd change it around and say "Chicken." Chicken just got a yawn and a "OK kind of day" out of him. Pasta ruined his day completely. Taking out anything for him to BBQ would make him happy, but nothing had the effect that pot-roast had on him.
Our marriage is into the second decade and I have used three full bottles of gravy browning making gravy for pot-roasts. I have friends who's marriage never made it through one full bottle of gravy browning. Maybe that was the problem.

Over the years I have learned to shake it up a bit. When he'd call half way through the day I would say "...and I picked up a chocolate brownie cake at Sobey's for dessert." He run around his office giving everyone high-fives. Pull the car over on the way home and help elderly ladies cross the street. He'd be giddy as a school-girl.
Then there would be days when I was pissed at him for something. I'd take the pot-roast out of the freezer in the morning to thaw. He'd phone half way through the day and ask "What's for supper?" and I'd say "McDonalds!" Then he wine and say "But you took out a pot-roast!" So I'd go in for the kill and say "I am too tired to cook it." I could hear the let-down in his voice. I'd feel empowered like the Soup-Nazi" on Seinfeld saying "No pot-roast for you!" The power would all be mine.

I am thinking of applying for a government grant to do an actual study on "The affects of pot-roast on men." I think it's a stupid enough idea to qualify for thousands in grant money. Then I could round up a room full of husbands and feed them pasta one night, chicken the next, then pot-roast. I'd get them to fill out "Happiness charts" and measure their endorphins. I'd become famous and write a book called "Saving Your Marriage with Pot-Roast!" I'd be on Dr. Phil and probably get my own reality TV show.
My Mother always said, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." Although my sister Rose says, "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach then you have to pull up on the knife, go through the rib-cage and then you'll get to his heart."

It's the simple things that make marriages work. He brings up my coffee every morning. I cook him a pot-roast. It's all good. It comes down to trying to figure out what makes each other happy.
For me, it's shoes. For him it's pot-roast. It works for us.

Monday, October 8, 2012

The Goldwing and the Cat

Fall is in the air and hubby says it's time to put the Goldwing in storage for the winter. He is going to start winterizing it this week. It made me think back to a couple of Falls ago when I drove a mini-van that I could never park properly.

Our house is on a corner lot. There is a one car driveway in the front of the house where the garage is, which is mine and a two car driveway on the side, which is for hubby's toys.
One Saturday I left with our daughter to go to her dance classes and hubby stayed home to winterize the Goldwing so he could store it for the winter.

After dancing for two hours and trying to recover from a birthday party sleep-over, my daughter was not in a good mood to say the least. She was cranky, tired and just hard to handle. By the time I got back home she was having a complete melt down and looked like the Exorcist in the back seat. I was trying to back into the driveway while looking into my side-mirrors to make sure I was staying on the asphalt. At the same time I was trying to keep an eye on Linda Blair in the back seat to make sure her head wasn't doing a complete 360.
Then I heard a "Bang!"

I looked in the rear-view mirror but couldn't see anything. I looked in the side-view mirrors and couldn't see anything. I was too far away from the garage door to hit it. So I put the van in park and jumped out.
There laying wounded on the driveway was hubby's pride and joy, his only reason for living, his prized Goldwing. Lying on its side... softly crying.

I knew I was going to be killed. I had to think fast.
I pulled the mini-van out of the driveway and parked it on the street. I got the Exorcist out of the back and dragged her in the house kicking and screaming. I called out to hubby but he didn't answer. So I ran upstairs looking for him. By the time I got to our bedroom I could hear him in the driveway cursing and swearing. I ran back downstairs and out to the driveway. Before I could say "Sorry" he looked at me and said "I am going to kill that cat!"

"The Cat?" What did the cat have to do with anything?
He saw the question marks in my eyes that were holding back the flood of tears that I was getting ready to spill while I begged for forgiveness.

"That God damn cat knocked over my bike. I went to the basement to get something and when I came back the cat was sitting on the bike. She must have jumped from the porch roof." He stood there scratching his head looking from the porch roof to the bike.
"The cat! Yes that damn cat" I agreed with him. I was a woman on death row if I had to sell-out the cat then so be it. "I've always hated that cat!"

"Help me pick it up" he asked. So I did my wifely duty and helped him put the bike up right. The tail light was broke and there was a big black scratch from the asphalt. "There's no damage at all" I lied. He was pissed. I tip-toed back into the house where I knew I'd be safer with the Exorcist.
Now, hubby is a retired police officer and a damn good one at that. He spent many years at accident scenes and was considered an expert witness in a court room. So it didn't take long for his police gut feelings to kick in.

About 20 minutes later I had calmed the Exorcist down and let her have a nap. I was enjoying a cup of tea while watching TV when hubby comes back into the house. He calmly sat in his armchair and said, "You know that cat is only about ten pounds." Immediately my brain said "Dead Woman Walking!" I had to think quick. "Nooooo. She must be handy on thirty pounds. You should see what she eats. She looks like a seal with legs." He quietly nods his head and answers "Even at thirty pounds. If she was propelled from a rocket launcher at a 1000 pound motorcycle, she still wouldn't knock it over."
"It was probably one of those perfect storms" I was drowning here "When the cat jumped from the roof and the wind was at a perfect speed and the bike was at the perfect angle. You know like one of those freak accidents."

"Or" he says "Like when someone backs their mini-van into the driveway without looking in the rear-view mirror to make sure there's nothing there first." Dead woman walking! Dead woman walking!
"Who would do that and not tell us?" I asked shocked. "Well maybe it was someone with my bike paint on their rear bumper" he answered. I knew he had me. My only hope was to throw myself on the mercy of the court and to turn it around and make him believe it was his fault.

"Well you shouldn't have parked it in my driveway. You know I can't park on the best of days. This is your fault."
He calmly got up and said, "I am going to Canadian Tire to buy a tail-light for my bike. It's in the front driveway. Try not to kill it the next time you park the van." Then he left.

I watched him walk away thinking this is a trap. He has booby-trapped the house to blow up when he gets to the bottom of the street. Or maybe he cut the break-lines on my van. Or maybe cut the heals off my favourite stilettos. There has to be retaliation for this.
I've been waiting two years. Still nothing. Whenever he mentions putting the bike away for the winter I start sleeping with one eye open. I know it's coming.

Maybe revenge is best when it's served cold, but does it have to be moldy too?