Rats of Life.

Last weekend we spent a lot of time outdoors. The weather was beautiful, the beer cold, and we had a lot of work to do on Gianna's sandbox. Gianna likes to run around with her shoes off in the back yard, so I'm just a teensy bit glad we no longer have an 80-pound beast making thrice daily fecal deposits back there. We really had a great dog, don't get me wrong. Even though both Joe and I regretted her passing (the dog, Shanna, was a 14-year old yellow Lab), I think we breathed a guilty sigh of relief. I don't think either of us are dog people. Or perhaps put more honestly: I think both Joe and I tend to be lazy people. We'd squabble over who did or should pooper scoop more, over how much dog hair was in the house, who's got to take her to the vet, etc. Anyway, since Joe is allergic to cats, that really leaves just one or two options when Gianna inevitably begs for some sort of pet: fish or rodents.

I kind of think of my life as a series of pet rats, at least up until fairly recently (2004) when the last one traveled across the rainbow bridge, and I was gone too often to take care of a new pet. I still remember all of their names: Sal (1986), Asia Azalia (1989), Margaret Thatcher (1989), Mirage (1992), Raven and Hazel (1993), Zoe (1996), Sadie and Isabella (1997), Reepicheep (1997), Corleone (1999), Chloe (1999), Ramone and Rafael (2000), Maynard (2001), Harry and Ron (2002). When Harry finally died in 2004, I threw in the towel for awhile on the whole rat thing. Joe claims they smell, and plus I was moving and/or gone much of the time. So throughout much of my life (around 20 years), there was at least one rat in the backdrop witnessing it all. I wistfully think of my rats: of them all, I miss Sal, Asia, Reepicheep, and Hazel the most. Some of them died naturally, of very advanced age (2 1/2-3 for a rat), others met with a grim end. Asia, who liked to amble around the basement in my mom's house, leapt up into the toilet and could not get out. I found her drowned body when I came home from swim practice. I called her name, but she did not come. Alarmed, I searched everywhere. I sobbed for days after that.

I think of my rats as representing 3 periods of my life: the high school rats, college rats, and Sacramento rats. I have rats buried in 3 states of the union. All of my exes have been forced to dig a grave for some rat or another. (They've also all had to see The Cure in concert as well). Reepicheep was a total sweetheart. Her mom was actually Sadie. When I bought her along with her sibling Isabella, she was pregnant, although I wasn't aware of this at the time. I was living in a complete hovel at the time. I had just gotten back from England, and had blown both semesters worth of loan $ in one semester. I also owed my mom some money. I moved in to this basement apartment with Vinnie. It had one grimy window high above the kitchen sink. If I stood on my tip-toes, I could see out of it. There was no heat, so we had to run these electric heaters all the time to keep up with the Wyoming winter. The rent was $225 per month. Chris (who would be my future boyfriend) set up a tent in the living room and paid us $75 per month, so rent was actually only $150, or about one week's wages at the swimming pool where I worked. The toilet in the bathroom was on this weird pedestal, so you had to go up a step to sit on it. From the bathroom, there was this door that let into this creepy earthen cave. We stored some crap in there, but I tried to stay away from it. Anyway, one day I heard little squeaking sounds, and there was Sadie with her litter of 13 pups. One was stillborn, so I buried it outside our crappy window. I played with those rats constantly, but they grew fast and I knew we didn't need anymore babies. Once they were old enough, I gave 11 to a pet store that promised not to sell them for snake food. I kept Reepicheep, the only one with a stripe down her back. Because I'd been there since her infancy, she was utterly at home on my shoulder, in my hood, wherever. When we finally moved out of the hell hole and into decent accomodations, she would always surprise guests by ambling around the corner and into view. They would say, "My god, there's a rat!" Usually I put her in her cage when visitors were around, though. I didn't want any wayward drunks to sit on her or something. Sadie was never the same after the pups; she never tamed well and kept trying to escape. That's a story for the next post, though.

Gianna in February at the Sierra 2 Playground.

Greasy hair and glad.

Today I skipped a shower in order to stay in bed with my 15-month old daughter Gianna a little longer. She's been sleeping alone now, in a play-pen crib type thing. She sleeps well now and doesn't seem to mind, but when I look down at her, she looks so small and lonely in the crib. I don't like how it looks like a little prison. She slept in our bed until about 6 weeks ago. I really liked having her there, and hearing her soft baby sighs and feeling her little warm body nearby all night. However, instead of sleeping better and more soundly over time, she actually began to wake more often, and needed to nurse to be able to fall asleep again. Gianna would wake every 90 minutes or so, and since I have to go to work all day, I was constantly tired and getting headaches. What worried me more though, is that each time my sleep was interrupted, I was starting to feel resentful, which would then make me feel guilty. So we made the decision to move her and things have been fine, and I think she sleeps better too.

So an era is over. I miss her at night. In the mornings, around 6:15, she wakes up and cries out. I go in to get her, and then bring her into our bed to nurse. After 15-30 minutes of leisurely nursing, she's usually ready to get up and play. Today, however, she nodded off again and I enjoyed this rare chance to snuggle.

After awhile I crept out of bed, and before too long she appeared in the hallway looking for me. We went about getting ready, and I turned around to see she had gotten into some coffee grounds. She had the grounds smeared all around her mouth and proudly held up the discarded filter. I laughed as I wiped her off, because I could see in her quizzical expression she was trying to decide if she liked the taste or not. I said, "Stick out your tongue," and she did so I could wipe it off.

This girl misses nothing. If she sees something new, she immediately wants to come and investigate. If I have on a different bracelet, or set down a glass of something to drink, she wants to see what it is. When I got new glasses the other day, she was so determined to get ahold of them, I actually had to remove them and put the old ones on for awhile. Of course, she gets very upset when thwarted, but usually can be persuaded to look or play with something else. I'm so pleased she loves books now. For the longest time, she had no interest and would slide off my lap or hurl the book to the ground. She got very impatient. Once she was around 9 or 10 months old, she began to tolerate the interactive ones, and now she'll sit through them all, one after another. She also loves to go outside. I found a beautiful wooden sandbox on Craigslist. It weighs a million pounds and we had to borrow a truck, but once we get it fixed up and painted, it's going to be marvellous. It's 6' X 4' with room for several children. Each end has a bench so an adult can sit there too. If the weather cooperates, we'll work on it this weekend. I really look forward to the weekends when I can spend all day with Gianna and my husband.

gulag, glasnost, gargoyle.

The field of audiology has been shifting from a Master's level to a doctorate level for a couple of decades now. I was caught in the middle and ended up with an M.S. for a profession that now requires a more advanced degree, at least for newer graduates. The geezers will be grandfathered in, but since I was just starting my odyssey in audiology, and my belly dancing career never took off, I went ahead and obtained the Au.D. via distance. So now I have the damn thing and that's that. I went to an optometry school, actually. Those of us who have done so now introduce ourselves as "doctor" to the patients, although it's a little hard for the receptionists to get used to. It's rather incongruous when I hear them say, "Jannette will be with you in a moment," and then I introduce myself as "Dr. Palermo" five minutes later. I've never liked patients calling me "Jannette." It's a little bit too personal and friendly for my taste. I'm a very private person with just a few close friends, and not even that many acquaintances. I don't mind if the patient is very nice, and I've seen him or her several times. But otherwise I think that barrier really needs to be there. Until the Au.D., though, it also seemed weird to be "Ms. Dayton" or more recently, "Ms. Palermo." That would just make me feel like a 3rd grade teacher.

The audiologists who still only have a Master's for whatever personal decision tend to be a little resentful. We're not allowed to put "Doctor of Audiology" on our business cards, even though that degree has been legally conferred upon me, because as I was told: Patients might feel they are receiving a different level of service. It's not out of some sense of superiority, or arrogance, that myself and others want to call ourselves "Doctor," (and we do). The purpose of the change is to elevate the field to a doctoring profession, as what we do is very similar to optometry or podiatry, both of which are limited license practitioners and can bill Medi-care. It's also to distinguish ourselves from slimy hearing aid salesmen. To deny Au.D. recipients the ability to use their title shortchanges the profession, not the person. I also don't think patients are that stupid. A brief explanation would satisfy most. Even if a patient wanted to switch providers, this happens all the time based on some perceived insult or notion. I did this myself when our ultrasound on our baby was questionable. I requested an M.D. rather than a tech. This happens and no one was insulted. It is what it is.

I write this now because tomorrow we are having a meeting about the debate. Fortunately the "boss" is now sympathetic, and moreover, there is no legal basis to deny one use one's own title. We don't misrepresent, patients know we are doctors of audiology, not medical doctors. Anyway, I'm sure one very conservative audiologist in particular is going to squall and loudly protest. If the economy hadn't downturned, she'd probably be retired by now....

It's for the best. Who wants to be on first name terms with, say, their gynocologist? I'd be appalled to hear him/her say, "hi, I'm Bob," then dig in my crotch. I don't want to call the doctor "bob," or "Natalie," or whatever. They are not my friend, just provider. Not even my husband says my name very often. Usually he says, "Sweetie," or "honey," or whatever.

It's 9:22, and my day has scarcely begun. I have done absolutely no work whatsoever.