No. I did not decide to cross over to Judaism.
I did not convert for my husband (who, by the way, is everything BUT Jewish).
Remember my 24 tubes of blood? Well. The results are in and now I am Jewish. Some people walk away from blood tests to find out nothing is wrong with them. Some may find out they have diabetes, are anemic or something else. I walked away from my blood test an Ashkenazi Jew. You can imagine what a blow this was because I have been under the impression for 34 years now that I was 100% Italian American despite the fact I spent high school with some moron kid who used to throw pennies at me and say, "pick them up, Jew girl." He's dead now which is too bad because I would look him up and ask him how he knew before me.
Now. Before you start thinking I actually believe that I am now of Jewish descent, I will say that it is MORE THAN LIKELY the fucking moron taking my blood that day fucked up somehow. Perhaps he should have taken me up my offer to help him write my name and birth date on all 24 tubes since he was complaining that he had to do that next. And he had no clue what a lot of the codes I was being tested for meant. So. Yeah, I'd say there is a better chance that he fucked up than I was robbed out of a bat mitzvah.
But. Let me just explain how all this came about. While I was waiting out a recess in court my cell rang. It was my prenatal doctor's office calling with the results. I was expecting her to tell me I was a little anemic and I had Factor V Liden. She told me I did not test positive for Factor V at all but I was Protein C deficient, Protein S deficient and I had Factor XI.
So. What does this all mean? Got me. How could I have spent the last 7 years thinking I had Factor V? Then again, how could I have spent the last 34 years thinking I was Italian? Seriously, what does it mean? Got me. All I know is her last words to me were "Well. You won't be the hardest case we've had but you'll certainly be the most interesting." Um. Thanks. I guess. You see, while all the protein C & S deficiencies are clotting factors, Factor XI is actually a form of Hemophilia. Shouldn't these cancel each other out?
She wants to send me for a redo. What did I tell you?
I went back down to my office and started researching this Factor XI. Turns out it is rare but occurrences of it are common among Ashkenazi Jews because they had a very high rate of inter-marriage. Well. I'm not Jewish but my grandparents were first cousins and since I get the Factor V gene from my dad and those are his parents, I pretty much had an answer for this mystery. It did not surprise me when a few days later I spoke to the nurse at my doctor's office and she asked if I was Jewish. A valid question, I guess, she could have thought my last name on my chart was my married name. I told her I was not but I explained the kissing cousins theory and she said it makes a bit more sense.
My sister is convinced that no matter what this test says someone in my family at some point slept with an Ashlenazi Jew. It's possible but who knows. I suppose I would never know for sure unless I sunk thousands of dollars and hours into charting my family tree. My mom is really confused. And Stew and I are kinda bummed that we could have had way more wedding fun by smashing glasses under our feet and having our friends hoist up us on chairs and dance us around the room. Oh well.
So. Now I wait on the results of the redo tests (yes, of course I went to a completely different lab where I had only slightly more confidence in the staff). Oh. And of course I called my primary care doctor who administered my tests for Factor V in 2001 and had her send the results to the prenatal doctor.
Until all the tests are back I'll hold off on my membership application to the Jewish Community Center but not my craving for corned beef on rye.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
23 vials of blood
I had today off. A much needed day off. Yet, I found myself awake at 7:59 stinky, itchy, hungry, thirsty and in dire need of coffee. But. Before I could enjoy my morning coffee, a cheesey omellette and a shower I had one thing to do first.
Go for bloodwork I have been putting off since November. I was waiting for a day off because usually the lab is booked solid and the wait is hours in the a.m. I decided to spare myself some anxiety and do it on a day off. I also had to fast for 12 hours and considering one last morsel of food usually goes in my mouth around 10:30 it meant I had to wait until 10:30 to go. I decided to at least shower first because I smelled and my scalp was itchy after 2 days sans shampoo.
I got to Quest at 9:45. I figured I would have at least an hour's wait but judging by the packed parking lot it may be longer. I had to park down the street and walk which was harder than it sounds because it's like negative 2 with this wind and I was lacking the energy I usually get from stuff like food and coffee. I was surprised when I opened the door to the lab waiting room there was not a soul in sight. I was hoping to be eating in 15 minutes (and that included the ride home). Just my luck that two employees were working there today, Lazy & Stupid. Stupid was on a break and Lazy was on a personal call that wasn't ending any time soon. She told me to sign in which i thought was stupid since I was the only one there. I signed in and then stood at her window with my paperwork and insurance card. She ignored me. I finally sat down but not before rolling my eyes and sucking on my teeth.
Stupid came back from his break and changed into his lab coat. He took my paperwork and insurance card. Then, he sat me in a room and said he would be right back because he had to look up some codes. "This is a lot of blood work" he said. Apparently, he was unfamilar with some of the tests on one of my forms (I had two forms from two different doctors). After 15 minutes, he came back in and proceeded to pull tube after tube out and line them up on the counter.
21 tubes later, he was ready to start.
"Oh. Wait" Stupid said, "I want to make sure that's it . . . Oh."
23 tubes later my eyes widened.
"32 is the maximum I can take from a pregnant lady," Stupid said.
"Um, I'm not pregnant," I said, "I just lost 3 pounds. This is a skinny day."
I could see how Stupid might make the jump as some were prenatal tests. The operative word being PRE.
Around the 12th tube I thought my arm was going to fall off and I was starting to feel some discomfort when he changed tubes snapping each one in and out of place.
"My arm is starting to hurt a little," I said. Not whining or anything. Just stating a fact.
"Well. My arm hurts too," Stupid said, "I have to hold it like this and these gloves are uncomfortable."
Umm . . . Excuse me, but I am the one with a needle sticking out of my arm as you extract 23 tubes worth of my blood without paying me for it, might I add. And all I kept thinking was how Stupid was more than likely doing something wrong and I would end up back here.
I decided to make small talk to make the time go faster and think less about the pain. I said how I was surprised there was not a wait when I walked in. Stupid said most people come early because they are fasting.
"You didn't have to fast so you could come later," Stupid said.
"Actually, I am fasting," I said. Something you would have known if you saw there were glucose tests on there, STUPID!!!!
Finally Stupid was done. But not without taking one more tube "because it doesn't hurt to have extra in case I missed something."
24.
24 tubes of blood.
Stupid said I was now free to eat a big breakfast. I said all I wanted was a big coffee. Food would come later.
"Well. I'm late for break but that's okay." Stupid said.
Uh . . . Thanks. I'd hate for you to be late for a break when you just got back from one. WTF? Can you say anything right? Maybe if you knew what you were doing you could have saved 15 minutes looking up codes or asked Lazy. I bet she knew since she's Lazy and you're Stupid. I left shaking my head because I knew I would be back in about a week when my doctors realize Stupid missed something and my tests aren't complete. I am sure of it
Go for bloodwork I have been putting off since November. I was waiting for a day off because usually the lab is booked solid and the wait is hours in the a.m. I decided to spare myself some anxiety and do it on a day off. I also had to fast for 12 hours and considering one last morsel of food usually goes in my mouth around 10:30 it meant I had to wait until 10:30 to go. I decided to at least shower first because I smelled and my scalp was itchy after 2 days sans shampoo.
I got to Quest at 9:45. I figured I would have at least an hour's wait but judging by the packed parking lot it may be longer. I had to park down the street and walk which was harder than it sounds because it's like negative 2 with this wind and I was lacking the energy I usually get from stuff like food and coffee. I was surprised when I opened the door to the lab waiting room there was not a soul in sight. I was hoping to be eating in 15 minutes (and that included the ride home). Just my luck that two employees were working there today, Lazy & Stupid. Stupid was on a break and Lazy was on a personal call that wasn't ending any time soon. She told me to sign in which i thought was stupid since I was the only one there. I signed in and then stood at her window with my paperwork and insurance card. She ignored me. I finally sat down but not before rolling my eyes and sucking on my teeth.
Stupid came back from his break and changed into his lab coat. He took my paperwork and insurance card. Then, he sat me in a room and said he would be right back because he had to look up some codes. "This is a lot of blood work" he said. Apparently, he was unfamilar with some of the tests on one of my forms (I had two forms from two different doctors). After 15 minutes, he came back in and proceeded to pull tube after tube out and line them up on the counter.
21 tubes later, he was ready to start.
"Oh. Wait" Stupid said, "I want to make sure that's it . . . Oh."
23 tubes later my eyes widened.
"32 is the maximum I can take from a pregnant lady," Stupid said.
"Um, I'm not pregnant," I said, "I just lost 3 pounds. This is a skinny day."
I could see how Stupid might make the jump as some were prenatal tests. The operative word being PRE.
Around the 12th tube I thought my arm was going to fall off and I was starting to feel some discomfort when he changed tubes snapping each one in and out of place.
"My arm is starting to hurt a little," I said. Not whining or anything. Just stating a fact.
"Well. My arm hurts too," Stupid said, "I have to hold it like this and these gloves are uncomfortable."
Umm . . . Excuse me, but I am the one with a needle sticking out of my arm as you extract 23 tubes worth of my blood without paying me for it, might I add. And all I kept thinking was how Stupid was more than likely doing something wrong and I would end up back here.
I decided to make small talk to make the time go faster and think less about the pain. I said how I was surprised there was not a wait when I walked in. Stupid said most people come early because they are fasting.
"You didn't have to fast so you could come later," Stupid said.
"Actually, I am fasting," I said. Something you would have known if you saw there were glucose tests on there, STUPID!!!!
Finally Stupid was done. But not without taking one more tube "because it doesn't hurt to have extra in case I missed something."
24.
24 tubes of blood.
Stupid said I was now free to eat a big breakfast. I said all I wanted was a big coffee. Food would come later.
"Well. I'm late for break but that's okay." Stupid said.
Uh . . . Thanks. I'd hate for you to be late for a break when you just got back from one. WTF? Can you say anything right? Maybe if you knew what you were doing you could have saved 15 minutes looking up codes or asked Lazy. I bet she knew since she's Lazy and you're Stupid. I left shaking my head because I knew I would be back in about a week when my doctors realize Stupid missed something and my tests aren't complete. I am sure of it
Thursday, February 07, 2008
You don't sing me love songs
Two posts in a row. I can hardly believe. And if anyone were actually reading this thing, I bet they wouldn't believe it either.
Actually this post was supposed to be yesterday's pot but i saw that Adnan one kicking around in my drafts box and figured i should get that out before the (pill)Pop(ping) Princess went and got herself healed. But. alas, when I came home yesterday, my favorite site Perezhilton.com informed me that Brit was out of the psych word, back in the arms of her sketchy boyfriend and quickly up to her old antics. Oh well.
So. Now. We can resume our regularly scheduled post. The other night I had a strange dream. And it was not strange in content as it was the characters in it. In my dream Max Weinberg (yes of the E Street Band and the Max Weinberg 7) was a marshal in the court house. No reason for the career switch, just that he said he needed some change. Now. I wouldn't know Max if i fell over him. But. There he was in my dream. He wanted me to help him get back into music. Not only was I holding down my same everyday job in my dream but apparently I was also skilled in music management. He approached me one day explaining his story of having fallen on hard times, booze, drugs and now a marshal. He held out a soggy piece of loose leaf for me and told me he wanted me to type up this sheet of music. Now. I say there was music on the sheet but it was not notes, it was the beat spelled out like dun hum dee dee hum hum dew. I thought he wanted me to type the actual notes. But. Nope. he just wanted a transcription of the jibberish he had on the loose leaf. That is when I knew the old man was crazzzzzzzy. But. I wanted to help him. I mean how many times in a young girl's life (aside from Patti Scialfa) can you say you helped someone from the E Street Band out. So. I gave it my all thinking he was loony tunes the whole time. I was even thinking it as I shopped in macy's for Christmas decorations. Did i mention my dream was taking place in the summer time? Far be it from me not to enjoy a good presale. And I was really pissed off because my friend, the one who I'm afraid is going to get back with his own Britney Spears crazy ex girlfriend called to tell me he fell off the AA wagon and was drinking again. I wanted to help a friend but I was trying to help Max Weinberg. Hello! Max Weinberg, takes precedence over anyone else.
Needless to say waking up from this dream I was just as confused as I was while it was happening. I tried to relay it to the boy but he is half asleep as he's walking out the door so he could not grasp the greatness of it. His wife was helping Max Wienberg. You think that would get his attention. Nope. So. I started pouting until he started singing, "you don't bring me flowers" which he promplty cocked up. So, I had to show him how it's really done singing both the male and female parts while drinking coffee. Multi-talented, bitches!
Actually this post was supposed to be yesterday's pot but i saw that Adnan one kicking around in my drafts box and figured i should get that out before the (pill)Pop(ping) Princess went and got herself healed. But. alas, when I came home yesterday, my favorite site Perezhilton.com informed me that Brit was out of the psych word, back in the arms of her sketchy boyfriend and quickly up to her old antics. Oh well.
So. Now. We can resume our regularly scheduled post. The other night I had a strange dream. And it was not strange in content as it was the characters in it. In my dream Max Weinberg (yes of the E Street Band and the Max Weinberg 7) was a marshal in the court house. No reason for the career switch, just that he said he needed some change. Now. I wouldn't know Max if i fell over him. But. There he was in my dream. He wanted me to help him get back into music. Not only was I holding down my same everyday job in my dream but apparently I was also skilled in music management. He approached me one day explaining his story of having fallen on hard times, booze, drugs and now a marshal. He held out a soggy piece of loose leaf for me and told me he wanted me to type up this sheet of music. Now. I say there was music on the sheet but it was not notes, it was the beat spelled out like dun hum dee dee hum hum dew. I thought he wanted me to type the actual notes. But. Nope. he just wanted a transcription of the jibberish he had on the loose leaf. That is when I knew the old man was crazzzzzzzy. But. I wanted to help him. I mean how many times in a young girl's life (aside from Patti Scialfa) can you say you helped someone from the E Street Band out. So. I gave it my all thinking he was loony tunes the whole time. I was even thinking it as I shopped in macy's for Christmas decorations. Did i mention my dream was taking place in the summer time? Far be it from me not to enjoy a good presale. And I was really pissed off because my friend, the one who I'm afraid is going to get back with his own Britney Spears crazy ex girlfriend called to tell me he fell off the AA wagon and was drinking again. I wanted to help a friend but I was trying to help Max Weinberg. Hello! Max Weinberg, takes precedence over anyone else.
Needless to say waking up from this dream I was just as confused as I was while it was happening. I tried to relay it to the boy but he is half asleep as he's walking out the door so he could not grasp the greatness of it. His wife was helping Max Wienberg. You think that would get his attention. Nope. So. I started pouting until he started singing, "you don't bring me flowers" which he promplty cocked up. So, I had to show him how it's really done singing both the male and female parts while drinking coffee. Multi-talented, bitches!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Adnan Gha(d)lib
So. Wait. let me get this straight. Brit Brit dates this Papparazzi cum famewhore Adnan Ghalib for a few weeks and he starts to show his face in every media outlet known to man whoring out his 15 minutes into 20 and making thousands to boot all off the fact he stuck his dick in a crazy girl and lived to tell about it. And despite this obvious exploitation, she's still with him. They're probably in cahoots together to pimp him out and get money so she can pay K-Fed's legal bills without having to dig into her own "Money for meth" piggybank.
Between you and me, Adnan doesn't bother me as much for cashing in on his 15 minutes as it does that he answers any interviewer's question like a Dr. Seuss book. Any intelligent interviewer might slap him on the back of his head and try to stop the skipping but instead they plug right along.
Interviewer: If Britney asked you to marry her, would you say yes?
Adnan: Would anyone say no?
Interviewer: Do you think Britney is crazy?
Adnan: I think she is smarter than you think.
We didn't ask about her IQ, Adnan. We asked about her mental stability, genius. Way to give an interview without giving any answers. Would you like some green eggs and ham with all that steaming pile of bullshit you're serving up. I bet you do. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.
Alas, I am glad that all this Brit-drama is coming to an end and her parents wised up that they should take control of her life like a 2 year-old chils and reign in the crazy. It was fune while it lasted but now it's getting old and sad. I'll miss that british accent she adopted. I mean, Madonna has been getting away with that shtick for years, I was rooting Brit could pull it off without looking batshit crazy. But. there were too many other factors working against her there.
Between you and me, Adnan doesn't bother me as much for cashing in on his 15 minutes as it does that he answers any interviewer's question like a Dr. Seuss book. Any intelligent interviewer might slap him on the back of his head and try to stop the skipping but instead they plug right along.
Interviewer: If Britney asked you to marry her, would you say yes?
Adnan: Would anyone say no?
Interviewer: Do you think Britney is crazy?
Adnan: I think she is smarter than you think.
We didn't ask about her IQ, Adnan. We asked about her mental stability, genius. Way to give an interview without giving any answers. Would you like some green eggs and ham with all that steaming pile of bullshit you're serving up. I bet you do. One fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish.
Alas, I am glad that all this Brit-drama is coming to an end and her parents wised up that they should take control of her life like a 2 year-old chils and reign in the crazy. It was fune while it lasted but now it's getting old and sad. I'll miss that british accent she adopted. I mean, Madonna has been getting away with that shtick for years, I was rooting Brit could pull it off without looking batshit crazy. But. there were too many other factors working against her there.
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