The Scribble Pad

On the other hand...

2007-03-05T17:14:00.000-08:00

On the other hand, I hate to say this, but if you want a convincing pro-sterilization argument, have a look at today's blog on my site, called Worse than Fiction

Sterilising Negroes

2007-03-01T17:43:00.000-08:00

An Indian Opposition senator has come up with a solution to our crime problem. All rather simple, really. He proudly stood up in the Senate on tuesday and proposed that the Government offer cash incentives to women "in specific communities that statistically have the highest crime rates in the country" to have abortions or to be sterilised. I don't need to point out that those "communities" are almost without exception poor black neighbourhoods.

Well, let me tell ya, the whole country has gone berserk. And rightly so. I'm not even going to give you a history lesson and bring up the specter of Hitler. I ain't even gonna point out how heinous the whole theory of eugenics it, and how vulgar and offensive it is to even think out loud that the mass sterilisation of black people would be a good idea.

I've only got one question for the Senator, and this is it: How much ya offering, sir? No, really, let's talk dollars and cents here. How much you planning on paying my people to get themselves done? What's a fetus go for these days? A pair of ovaries.? Are sperm ducts worth more or less?

Unfortunately for the crime rate, the Senator was fired by his party in less than two days. Pity. I'd have loved to have heard more. Incidentally, (and amusingly) this Senator had only been there for 3 months, and his first order of business was to bring in a priest to bless his chair because it was cursed. Why was it cursed? Because the last 2 men who sat in it died.

It's not easy living in the third world.

The farm

2007-02-28T14:15:00.000-08:00

Nearly bought le farm today. Well, maybe nearly is a bit of an exaggeration. I had a few feet to spare. But it was disconcerting nonetheless. Had a meeting down in Mayaro today, a 2 hour drive to the south east coast. Always glad to get out of the office, I was pretty excited by the idea. Took my laptop with the fantasy of writing on the beach for an hour or two after the meeting. Wouldn't that have been neat.

Well, I did park on the beach around one, and had lunch there, but it's a very lonely coast, and as the saying goes, in space no-one can hear you scream. I angled my mirrors to let me watch all approaches behind me, just in case anybody had the idea of mugging the stupid single woman. Nobody did, but I scarpered as soon as lunch was over. Ah, well. Here are a few pics just to prove I'm not lying.

Anyhow, that experience wasn't exactly farm-worthy. What was farm-worthy took place along a strip of road called the Valencia stretch. It's a few miles of smooth straight road the brings out the Stiriling Moss in dumb people. I was driving mildly along when the car in front of me went into a tailspin and skated off the road in a cloud of dust. I thought maybe he'd blown a tyre. Then I realized he'd done it deliberately, to avoid the onslaught of a mini-bus (we call 'em maxi-taxis) whose dumbass driver thought it would be a capital idea to overtake 5 or 6 other maxi taxis at the same time.

I pulled and skated, he pulled and skated in the opposite direction, almost going up on two wheels, he had to brake so fast.

Nope, t'weren't a nice experience. Nosiree.

Jackass.

re the pix: I really ought to smile more, eh?

Be safe

2007-02-15T08:10:00.000-08:00

Crime might change us in big ways, but it changes us in small ways, too. I noticed something the other day while I was watching a local talk show. At the end of the programme, the host congenially wished the audience, "Have a crime-free day."

I did a double take. Whatever happened to the standard, if a little time-worn, "Have a nice day?" Then I started listening. I was at the Post Office today. The post lady wished the lady in front of me farewell with, "Be safe."

I opened my ears, and I realise it's all around. We no longer say just "Bye" or "See you," or "Have a pleasant day." People are saying, "Be careful." "Be safe." "Hope you have a quiet night." We're all so aware of the situation, that even our hopes for each other have changed.

Sad, really.

I hate sick days

2007-02-06T12:12:00.000-08:00

I hate sick days. I really do. They're so useless, mainly because when I'm home sick, I really am home sick, due to this annoying work ethic that I had bred into me that it's unacceptable to fake a sickie just for the hell of it. Thanks a bunch, mother.

It's 4 p.m. and this is the first time I've been vertical, other than to get something to eat or to go pee. Laryngitis, brought on by a wetting in the rain I got on Saturday while taking my kids to parade at the Kiddies carnival. (You can read more about that fine fiasco here.)

So here I am, home alone, kids where they belong, Rawle where he belongs, all the time in the world. I should be writing. Walking the dog. Watching baby daddy drama on Maury. But I'm too sick to do any of the above. Barely well enough to be coherent.

Damn sick days.

Madness

2007-02-02T17:20:00.000-08:00

This was never supposed to be a blog about crime. It was supposed to be a cute and funny and even slightly rambling blog about whatever catches my fancy. And yet I find myself writing about little else. In the past few days I've been a little afraid of coming onto this site. Partly because I was worried about what I'd write, and partly because what I wanted to write about was so painful that I was afraid to confront it.

So much happens so fast we can't even digest it any more. Two 70 year olds (distant relatives of Rawle's) beaten to death in a house robbery, found with their 6- and 8-month old granddaughters slipping and sliding in their blood. yesteday, a 1 year old and a 3 year old shot accidentally by police in their own yard during a raid. And the political band plays on.

My birthday was 2 days ago. My grandmother, who is 92, called me with her birthday wish: "I can only hope that you live long enough to see your children grow up. That's all I have for you." Then her voice broke. Is this what we've come to? That we no longer can wish each other health, wealth, and happiness, but our only hope is to survive these terrible times?

I need to find some way to stop this spiral of horror and pain that I go through each time something like this happens. I know that I'm not alone; half the country is numb. We hide behind our burglar proofing and pray it won't be us next. We don't let our children play outdoors anymore. But what worries me is my mental state. I'm afraid to read the papers, and when I do, I wind up almost in tears. My response is not that uncommon, but is it normal? Or am I quietly going mad? Is this the beginning of a slide into depression? And if it is, would I be capable of recognising it?

Shutdown

2007-01-25T04:29:00.000-08:00

I drove to work through ghost towns today. I made it to work in a little over half the time I usually take. When I dropped my son off 10 minutes before the start of school, he was the only child there. People have been staying home today out of fear of the call to shutdown in protest against crime.

I made it a point to come out because although I’m all for protest, and I’ve marched several times and carried several placards in my time, I don’t agree with “Shutting down the country”. It goes against our interest as a people. People aren’t staying home in protest, they’re staying home out of fear.

The organizer of the 3-day protest, a broadcaster on an Islamic station called Ishmael, (oh yes, he happens to be Muslim) was arrested last night under the Terrorism Act, which allows the police to hold someone without charge for 3 days. He was taken by 4 armed plainclothes cops in unmarked cars from his business during a barbecue. His friends and families thought it was a kidnapping as they did not identify themselves as cops, and formed a human barricade. Needless to say, it didn’t end nicely. Ishmael has also had his TV programme yanked and his license to rally on Saturday revoked.

When a government reacts to the voice of the people this way, things will only get worse. When the police comply with these draconian measures, we all have to be afraid. I didn’t support the protest, but I support the right to protest. What will happen when we get that right taken away?

Update:
In a desperate bid to save face after the stupid and high-handed arrest of Mr. Ishmael, the government has frantically perused the law books for something they can charge him with. They've come up with a beauty: they've charged him with distributing a flyer without the printer's name and address on it. He is now out on $10,000 bail. I've been in Public Relations for 15 years, and I never knew this was illegal.
I guess now I know.

No place to hide

2007-01-24T05:19:00.000-08:00

Some time in the early hours of yesterday morning four men burst into the home of a female police office and executed her, her family and a visitor who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The hit was ordered from behind prison walls by a man she had just put away for murder. Everyone was riddled with bullets, except a 5 year old girl who hid. A neighbour who heard her screaming says it chilled him to the marrow.

I’ve heard of a mass hits ordered in Jamaica, but it is unprecedented in this country. It is a horror that we have never even imagined, in spite of all that has gone before. The cops are not taking it lightly. They’ve said that their response will be swift and proportionate. They’re not kidding. Within hours they burst in on a man who lived a few streets away from the cop, dragged him out of his bed, set him against his fridge and shot him in the head. This is only the beginning.

We are going to experience a wave of violence like we never have before. When I first heard the news I was driving to work. I felt physically ill. Pains all over my body. My first thought was to stop the car, call Rawle and tell him we have to get out of this place. But where can we go? There’s no place to hide.

There’s a groundswell of protest that’s building. There have been calls to shut down the country for two days, starting tomorrow, in protest against the Government’s inability to stem the tide. People are stocking up on gas, food and water. There will be mass stayaways from work. There may even be street blockages, hopefully no clashes with the cops.

I appreciate the gesture. I’ve done my share of protesting. But I’ve lost faith in the power of protest. Our government, especially our Prime Minister, is so arrogant and so self-obsessed that they have lost the ability to listen to the will of the people. This protest will change nothing.

Downtime

2007-01-18T11:56:00.000-08:00

I really am a hypocrite. Always moaning about downtime this, downtime that, and how I never get any. Ran away on my lunch hour to a nearby beauty salon for a facial. It was glorious: tender fingers touching my face, sweet smelling aromatic oils, mellow CDs, birds twittering, heated, vibrating chair...and I was itching to get up.

I must have Restless Allover Syndrome. I'm lying there with my eyes closed, and this divine lavender mask hardening on my poor mistreated face, in a darkened room. Chair heating up to soothe my aching back. I could have taken a nap. Did I? Nooo. Instead I'm peeping at my watch to see how much longer I have to lie like this. What? You mean I have to lie here in utter luxury in the middle of the day while this stuff soaks into my thirsty skin for A WHOLE FIFTEEN MINUTES? Noooo!!

Incredubly, I actually called the technician and asked her to hurry it up, because I have to get back to work. I must be mad.

Sometimes, I wanna slap myself.

On second thought...

2007-01-12T10:32:00.000-08:00

On second thought, I don't think I like this drug. I got up this morning feeling odd as hell. My hands have been shaking so much i can barely type this. My head feels full of cotton wool. Getting high is definitely not for me. I looked up this tofranil and don't like what I see.

It's really called Imipramine and it as a list of side effects as long as my arm. none of them good. I called my doctor and told him i want out. He says to use it every other night instead. We'll see how that goes, but if I still feel like this in a few days, i'm stoppong cold turkey. I'd make a very bad junkie.

MMMMellowwww.

2007-01-11T10:18:00.000-08:00

I've never been one for drugs. Never been high (childbirth narcotics excluded), never been any drunker than two glasses of wine will get me. Never smoked anything, period, much less anything that could get me jailed. But my doctor is trying a drug on me called Tofranil for a bladder problem I have. (Don't ask. Put that in your Too Much Information file and forget I said it.) And as it turns out, it's also an anti-depressant with some very interesting side effects.

He told me to take it the very last thing before I go to bed. Now, after three nights, I can see why. In fifteen minutes flat, things start to look groovy. Sleep comes a little easier, and even when I'm awake, I'm just chillin' in the dark, feelin' mellow.

Not bad. Not good, though. Groggy isn't a sensation I enjoy. But given the amout of sleep I've been losing to anxiety lately, it's a welcome break. It's a 30 day prescription, so maybe over the next month or so, you can expect more cheerful blogs.

$8 MIllion? No, thanks.

2007-01-08T07:05:00.000-08:00

Last night there were choppers pacing our neighborhood, across the sky and back, across and back. I fell asleep listening to them. When I left for work this morning, there was a chopper flying overhead. Slowly. Searching.

I assumed they were looking for the kidnap victim who as snatched a few miles away from my house on New Year's Eve (Or Old Year's Day, as we call it in Trinidad). But I heard on the news that he was found on Saturday morning, about a mile from my house. He'd escaped his captors and wandered in the forest for a day.

The other lady, who has been missing for 3 weeks, hasn't been found. Even though the ransom has been paid, she was not released. I think about her a lot because although we never formally met, she had her reflexology treatments scheduled after mine, so when I left, she was usually coming in. I remember her as being cheerful, down to earth and talkative, a regular person who didn't let her money give her airs. The police has a suspect who claims that they shot her in the chest more than a week ago, chopped her into pieces and buried the pieces.

And we call ourselves civilised.

Meanwhile, in other news, the state Lotto is now over $8 million, with record lines at the lotto shops. Why? Who would want that kind of wealth in a place like this, at a time like this? This country has made success a liability. When you succeed, you put your family at risk, because there are those who will not forgive you for having what they are too lazy, too cowardly to work for themselves.

Even though we don't gamble, I asked Rawle what he'd do if he won it. He said we'd either have to hide the money or leave the country "for a little while". Lovely. The penalty for having money is either living in fear or uprooting yourself and your children from everything they know.

To be honest, though, I've always said how much I love Trinidad, and how I'd never leave it, no matter what. Now, I'm not so sure.

Inso-mania

2007-01-05T05:45:00.000-08:00

Couldn't sleep last night. Third night in a row. Turned up for work an hour and a half late this morning. Third day in a row. I used to be an insomniac, back in the days when having no children allowed me the luxury of staying up all night and worrying about stuff. I hadn't thought I'd be visiting that planet again.

But I couldn't sleep last night. I lay there worrying about this country and what a scary place it has become, and about the two kidnap victims we're still hoping will come home. One of them has been missing since a week before Christmas. At night, I lie in bed and hear the helicopters pass over my house. Lookng for them.

Murders have kept pace with the number of days in the year. People are killing people in such an off-hand manner that you'd think it was all a game. Two government councillors shot in seperate incidents. One survived seven bullets, one didn't live after he took three to the head. One girl shot in the face for being a police informant, another man disemboweled in an argument over his dog.

As a nation, we're losing our soul. What will be left for my children by the time they grow up?

An even uglier tree

2007-01-02T11:21:00.000-08:00

I thought I had the ugliest Christmas tree in the world, but it seems that I was suffering from delusions of grandeur. Have a gander at the one in my office. No, I did not Photoshop it.

Segregation of books?

2006-12-28T03:59:00.000-08:00

A debate has opened up on my comments page that I’d be really interested in sharing with others. The issue has to do with the segregation of books in American book stores by the race of the author and, to a lesser extent, the characters. Now, remember I’m not American, and in Trinidad the practice is almost unheard of. So I’m fascinated by the whole thing.

I’m inviting you over to join the debate and make some observations of your own.

What do you think of the practice of racial/ethnic segregation of books?

Also, I remember as a young girl reading romance, the only books available to us were written by white women, about white characters, as the African American romance genre pretty much hadn’t been invented yet. I cut my teeth on Janet Dailey, Kathleen Woodwiss and Barbara Cartland. Now we as black women have a genre of our own, and yet many of us still read “white” romances. My question is; do white women read black romances? What about black mainstream fiction?

In the world of rap music, a significant proportion of the consumers are white. What’s it like in the world of black fiction? Do we have a large white readership? And if not, why not?

I’d love to hear your views. Why not drop by and chew the fat a little?

I'm taking back Christmas

2006-12-22T18:42:00.000-08:00

You know, for several years now I've grown more and more leery of Christmas. The cost. The obligations. The family pressures. The mega marketing. The strident music that's more and more about partying, drinking and pork and less and less about a little baby shivering in the hay.

It got to the point where even thinking about Christmas brought on a sickening feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I used to find every excuse to get out of as much as I could. What I couldn't get out of, I dreaded, had nightmares about, and trudged reluctantly toward. Then I'd come away grumbling.

No more. Having children who are just about old enough to know that something special's going on has changed everything. For their sake, I've decided that I'm taking back Christmas. I won't let the unsavoury elements get me down. Henceforth, here is my Christmas pledge to myself:

I am not changing curtains or cushion covers. I am not painting or varnishing anything. My house is fine as it is and Christmas will come and go whether the house smells of new stuff or not.
I will not buy presents I don't feel like buying, just because I suspect someone is going to get me something, or because it would be rude not to. If you get me something, and I got you nothing, I'm going to say a grateful "Thank you," and leave it at that.
For those people I am getting presents for, I will not buy ashtrays, vases, or body lotion/perfume/hand soap sets. I will buy things that I think they want and need, even if that is something as mundane as a pair of pot holders.
For those who will appreciate the gesture, I am making a contribution to a charity in their name, rather than buy one more useless thing they'll thank me for and never use.
The kids (others more than mine) will get toys. Christmas is all about them, and they'll damn well enjoy it.
I will not spend one minute in the presence of someone I don't like just because I feel obliged to. I will not pay courtesey visits to people who manage ask me at the very second I don't have a plausible excuse not to. I will not invite anyone over unless I really want them here. I will not make a single phone call to someone I don't like just because not doing so will piss them off.

Starting this year, I'm doing Christmas my way, for my children and for me. I loved it as a child, and I'm going to make sure my children have only happy memories of it. I'm taking it back.

Have I lost my edge?

2006-12-21T08:06:00.000-08:00

My old editor from the Guardian has asked me to take up my old Sunday column. I asked her to hold that thought for a while. I need to think it through. I enjoyed my column for two years, although I can't say how many other people did.

For practical reasons, it might be hard; I have my new romance due in July, and I'd like to get back into the literary game, and I haven't even started on that one. Where would I find the time to turn out something weekly?

But that's just half of it, and the smaller half to boot. The thing is, I don't have enough confidence in myself to make that leap. What if my columns are no good? What if I've lost my edge? Did I ever have an edge?

I've posted a few old columns on my website here. See for yourself.

Universal mother

2006-12-19T04:54:00.000-08:00

Trinidad can be hell sometimes. We just closed down our national airline and paid the pilots large sums of severance pay. Within days the wife of one of the pilots was snatched from her home, on her birthday at that, and held for ransom.

This woman has a 5 year old and a 7 year old. They're traumatised beyond imagination, and every day the poor husband begs for her release. The problem for me is that once children are involved in any crime or any tragedy, I internalise it to the point where I grieve as though it's happening to me. I lay awake in bed last night, thinking about her children. Feeling guilty because I was in a warm bed cuddled up with mine, and she's out there somewhere, chained up in a shack, if she's lucky. If she's not, she's buried in a shallow grave. She's been gone two weeks. It looks worse by the day. What will these children do? How will this poor man raise his children alone? Christmas will be just awful for them.

I don't know why I latch on to these things so. Maybe it's my writer's capacity for empathy. Maybe my imagination is just too acute. I wish I wouldn't torment myself, but I also don't want to lose the sensitivity. What good is a writer if she can't feel the emotions of others?

But it isn't just writing. It's motherhood, too. If there's one thing about me that has changed since I had children, it's that. I think in some way all mothers are linked by motherhood into a single universal entity. We feel each other's pain. I don't pray much, but I prayed for that woman last night.

UPDATE: I heard on the evening news that they found her and she's still alive! Oh, my god, I ached so hard for that lady. I can't help but wonder what the scene at their home is like tonight. Is she home or is she still in hospital? At least her children will still have christmas. Poor things. They'll never be the same again.

Oh, I haven't told you yet, but I have a new short story up on my website. It's called Playing Dead, and you can't tell it from the title, but it's a Christmas story. You might like it.

The Hypocritical Oath

2006-12-08T11:45:00.000-08:00

A 72 year old friend of mine has been suffering from back pain and sciatica for the past few days. When it got too bad for her to move around, she asked me to drive her to the doctor. I dropped her off, popped into the office, and then picked her up again when she was done. I wish I'd stayed.

This doctor, who operates out of his sprawling mansion, didn't even look at her leg or back. He informs her that she's just got a little touch of old age, hands her an envelope with huge unmarked white pills, and writes her a prescription. Not even a pharmacist could identify the pills or say what they were for. The prescription? Its for vitamins. Ten days' worth.

That'll be $100 please. Thank you Ma'am.

First off, Doc, this lady is a pensioner, and that kind of money represents a huge chunk of her income. I don't even want to think of what she has to go without since she's paid you. Second, when a patient comes to you in pain, you damn well should examine her - and TRY TO HELP! Third, isn't it a legal requirement that all pills prescribed to a patient should be clearly labelled, and that patient should be told what they are, what they're for, and what sort of risks they pose? For all we know, that shit could be horse medicine. Oh, and you gave her a shot in the ass, but wouldn't tell her what it was. Saline?

Then there's those vitamins. You don't have to go to med school to know that 10 days worth of vitamins couldn't possibly have any effect on the body, much less improve leg and back pain.

So, wassup, doc? Is that that you're so busy that you don't think it's worth the effort to explain yourself to a little old lady? Or is it that you're so smart that you think anyone who doesn't have the letters MD after their name is just too stupid for an explanation?

Where do you get off treating an old woman like that? You treated her like a fool, and she left your office still in pain, bewildered and humiliated. She called you back, and you say "Well, I don't know what to tell you, but you can come back in if you like". Bam, another hundred bucks. Thank you Ma'am.

Didn't see that in the Hippocratic Oath.

Greater love

2006-12-07T09:06:00.000-08:00

I can't tell you how sad I am about the death of James Kim. if you remember, he's the man who left his snowbound wife and two small children in their car last week in Oregon to try to get help. He was out there for about a week, wandering. I got up at about 4 a.m. this morning and lay in my bed, worrying about him, only to hear later today that his body was found. He'd wandered 8 miles in the snow, and died just 1 mile from the car.

I feel so sad. Rawle knew of him because of his work in the computer industry, but my only connection to him is the similrities between his wife and me. I can only imagine sitting in a car for days with my toddler and my baby, just like she did. (Hers were 7 months and 4 years old.) Freezing cold, lost, having to comfort two restless, irritable, cold, hungry children, wondering where your husband is, and hoping that he'd come back. I keep asking myself, what would I do?

She breastfed hers, as I would have. But oh, those long, dreadful cold days.

And I can't help but feel great admirtion for Kim. It is a commentary in a nutshell on gender roles and responsibilities, if you want to look at it like that. He did the manly thing. He did what a man would do. Step out, step up, and venture into the cold to save his family. Greater love had no man than this, that he laid down his life for those he loved.

The ugliest tree

2006-12-04T17:39:00.000-08:00

We've got the ugliest Christmas tree in christendom. I let my 3 year old, Riley, decorate it this year, since it's the first time he's been aware of Christmas and all the trimmings. So I let him throw on everything but the kitchen sink. It went up on Saturday, and since then, it's had a dozen revisionings, with all the tinsel hanging at about three feet off the ground, stuffed toy ornaments roaming the house like the Roaming Gnome and the mercifully unbreakable ornaments being kicked around like footballs. I've got glitter dust in my bed.

I think this Christmas is going to be loads of fun, seeing it all through his eyes again. He's learning all the Carols, and lies in bed at night rehearsing his lines for the Christmas play on Thursday. He's the Wise man with the gold. His line? "I bring you gold." I can't wait.

Bang Bang! (No kiss, kiss).

2006-11-28T09:18:00.000-08:00

I had just put my kids into the tub on Saturday evening round about 7 o' clock, when I heard two loud pops. Then I heard my neighbour screaming as he ran down the street, shouting for someone to call the police. Turns out that two young men relieved him of his car as he tried to enter his yard, put him to lie on the ground with a gun in his face, and discussed the merits and demerits of shooting him. He said he had a wife and kids and begged for his life. They said they didn't care.

So he ran.

They fired two shots at him, grazing his shoulder, and made off in the car. Incidentally, it was the same brand as my own. I didn't have a good night. These shots went off so close I felt the pop in my ear, even though I was indoors. My kids were about. My husband ran outside to find out what was happening, and I trembled until he came back.

One of these young men lounged outside my house until his victim came home. I don't even recall seeing him. I can't help but ask myself, were they targeting that specific car, or would mine have done as nicely? And what would happen if my turn came up in the crime lottery and my kids were with me? This place has become a nightmare. I love standing out under the stars with my children and looking up at the moon. When they're in bed I like to go outside and breathe in the scent of orange blossoms and garlic vine flowers. Now I look both ways and case the joint before I put the garbage out.

It's sickening, this sense of waiting your turn. Terrifying.

Bad day for babies

2006-11-16T18:04:00.000-08:00

Today somebody gave birth to a baby boy and threw it in the trash can on the sidewalk of a major street near where I live. A vagrant fished it out (I guess he decided it wasn't good to eat) and put it on the pavement. People walked up and down, shook their heads, and tut-tutted about who could have done something like that to a poor innocent baby. Nobody picked it up. Didn't want to get involved, I guess.

Somebody finally called the ambulance. Instead of rushing him to hospital, they called the police and hung around until the cops came. By this time, he was already dead.

Somewhere along his nightmarish few hours of life on planet Earth, somebody managed to bash his face in.

And you wonder why I can't sleep.

Where's the medical morality?

2006-11-13T17:31:00.000-08:00

Crabby today. Having a spot of medical bother, so of course I have begun the ritual of dancing through the hoops while doctors play the tune. And I'm not enjoying it.

More and more I ask myself: where's the medical morality? Whatever happened to relating to your patient, whatever happened to truly wanting to help, and hatever happened to practicing with a conscience?

My cutie doctor has referred me to a specialist. Okay, no probs. Only he's on the other side of the island, so to get there for my 9 am appointment I'm on the road at 6:30 a.m. this morning. I get there and, wonder of wonders, I don't have to wait. And then what happens? This guy sees me for 3 minutes tops, just long enough to peep at my doctors referral letter and write out a request for an ultrasound. Then he sends me packing, with an instruction to come back Friday. That'll be $200 Ma'am, thank you very much. For THREE minutes work in which he lays not a hand on my and barely asks me a question. Talk about being dis-MISSED. (NB $1 US = $6TT)

So I trot into the city for my ultrasound. During the test I make a mistake (How was I supposed to know what to do? I'm not a medical worker). And have to deal with the sarcasm, irritation and plain old churlishness of the doctor administering the test. I leave with my tail between my legs feeling small and stupid. That'll be $400, please, Ma'am, thank you very much.

The medical fraternity in this country is one huge grinding money machine, and God help you if you don't have enough money to pay. If you wind up at the mercy of the public health system, cross yourself and start to pray.

Why must it cost so much to stay healthy? Why must health care be such a chore? Why must I pay $200 for you to see me for 3 minutes, and then another $200 for you to decide what's the next step?

I had a baby 3 years ago, and my OB-GYN charged $2,500 to pull the kid out of me. 25 months later, he charges $4,000 for my second kid. I'm still reeling. Why the steep price increase? Same doctor, same patient, same hospital, same delivery method, same service, same healthy pregnancy and delivery. Same damn vagina. WHAT CHANGED?

Cost of living went up? Did the Benz need tyres? Did he want to take his wife to St. Vincent for the weekend? Did he just feel he was worth more, or did the entire gynecological cohort just get together and decide they were charging more for their service?

I understand that you went to school for longer than I did. I understand that you are charging for your knowledge, experience and expertise. I understand that your service is valuable. But when you charge these kinds of fees, you force more and more people to rely on the cursed, stinking farce that is public health. I can barely afford all this, and I have a good job and insurance. What happens to people who have nothing?

They die, that's what.

Sinfully gorgeous

2006-10-31T12:54:00.000-08:00

Had a visit with my gynecologist yesterday. Oh God, that man is one of the most gorgeous humans alive. Between you and me, he was the inspiration for Jacob in A Thirst For Rain. I came home from my first visit with him (Was it really 10 years ago?) and wrote a description of this criminally handsome man. The description grew into a character sketch, and the character sketch grew into a book.

Life really is wonderful sometimes.

But I'm thinking this man's in the wrong profession. They should have told him that in med school. "You want to be a what? Get out! Go be a cardiologist instead. You can's spend your day around women's Whoopsie-daisies!"

Can't even look the man in the eye....