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Your Hollow “Personal Responsibility” Argument

I agree we shouldn’t count on government institutions to take care of us, that we need to take personal responsibility for our lives. But sometimes people use that as an excuse not to right wrongs. Take the case of the Methuen, Mass., student with a nut allergy.

Mood music:

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My local paper and former employer, The Eagle-Tribune, ran a story about the student in yesterday’s paper, and some of the comments were typical:

So when some kid becomes allergic to oxygen, should we all have to sacrifice?  Where does it end?  The new democracy.  All sacrifice for the few.  If I am walking down the street with a bag of peanuts should I now be afraid of being sued for injuring someones kid?

Ah, yes. The classic “where does it end” argument. The fear that if we put rules and restrictions in place to protect a few people, government will automatically take it 17 steps further and police everything from what kind of car we can buy to how far apart our legs should be when taking a piss. It’s another hollow argument.

Meanwhile, some of my readers disagreed with my conclusions. These capture the general sentiment:

Teachers are in the schools to educate, not babysit. When my daughter had to wear a heart monitor 24/7, I didn’t expect the school to cancel gym class! Maybe his parents should spend less time venting and more time educating their child. This way it’s not the responsibility of the rest of the world to create a bubble around him. It’s time for personal accountability!

Are you suggesting teachers need to be held accountable for what children eat? Was there a death in Methuen schools I missed, or an ambulance sent to a school?

That argument is off-base because:

  • These parents are as hands-on as it gets. They have tried relentlessly to work with the school. They have educated their child on how to take care of himself. And they have never, ever suggested the school has a responsibility to do all the work here.
  • The notion that my conclusions are “a bit harsh” because the boy didn’t die or get taken out in an ambulance is ridiculous. That’s like saying a teacher shouldn’t be fired because they only roughed up a student a little bit and not enough for an ambulance to be called in.
    And the fact is that even severe allergic reactions can take 12 hours to show. The boy was taken to the hospital several times for exposure that happened at school.
  • The boy is on an IEP (special needs) and a 504 med plan. Teachers and staff are expected to follow those things as part of their jobs. Violations are not OK. Not now, not ever.

Most infuriating is the argument that the parents should home-school their child if they don’t like it. I’m sure plenty of parents would home-school their children if they could afford to quit their jobs and purchase all the supplies. True, you can’t always have a special needs child in the mainstream classroom environment, but this is not one of those cases.

Finally, suggesting it’s not the teacher’s job to protect the children in their classrooms is stupid. Their job is about much more than teaching from a book. It’s also to protect students for the six hours a day that they’re in charge. Parents trust teachers to protect their kids.

Think about that next time you’re compelled to whine about personal responsibility.

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Death Etiquette: Pay Your Respects, Even If They Hate You

Someone I know just learned that her ex’s maternal grandfather died. Though this man was like a grandfather to her, she’s getting pressure to stay away from the wake and funeral because her ex-mother-in-law doesn’t want her around.

Some of you might say she should stay away, that her ex-mother-in-law’s wishes should come before other considerations. After all, it’s her father who died, and she needs all the comforting loved ones could give her. She shouldn’t have to see people she can’t handle.

I can appreciate that sentiment. But I don’t agree.

Mood music:

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I recently went through a similar experience. The dad of one of my best friends passed away last fall. Nobody told me to stay away, and they wouldn’t have done so. But various members of the family have been angry with me in the last decade and a half, so I felt some pressure to stay away all the same.

In the end I attended the wake and the funeral. Some of the family were as cold to me as I had expected. But the deceased was a great man who played an important role in my life, so I’m glad I did it.

And that’s the point, really: When someone you care about dies, you have to do what you feel is right to honor that person’s memory. If that person was special to you, then your presence will honor them. The desires of other mourners — no matter how close they were to the dead — are secondary.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you flaunt your presence in front of those who may not want you there. Go in, quickly offer them condolences, say a prayer in front of the casket and go find a corner where you don’t have to see certain people. There will always be someone there to talk to, and they won’t care if you get along with the family or not.

If you stay away because someone can’t handle you, it’ll haunt you forever. That would be a damn shame.

 

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How to Stop Screwing Your Patients in Four Simple Steps

A colonoscopy I was supposed to have today was abruptly canceled over missing paperwork. Normally I wouldn’t complain about something like this because life happens. But I’m hearing a lot lately about medical offices screwing up and making the patient feel stupid instead of taking responsibility.

Mood music:

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I know people who get scared shitless when they have to go for a procedure. They worry for weeks and just want to get it over with, and when they’re kicked to the curb, it makes their angst 10 times worse.

I used to get that way. I’d obsess for weeks before the colonoscopies I have to have because of the Crohn’s Disease. I’d work myself up into a frenzy about getting the damned thing over with. As a result, a cancellation would send me deep into a depressed fog, and then I’d work myself up into another frenzy for a few more weeks.

Fortunately, I got past the frenzy-depression cycle long ago. I’m deeply annoyed about today’s cancellation, but I’m not in a fog. I was happy to break my fast with an iced coffee from Starbucks and have an extra workday to get things done. But in the process, I’ve had to throw other people’s plans into chaos so that I could get this test rescheduled.

With that, I want medical professionals to understand a few things:

  • If you have to cancel someone’s procedure, it can be traumatic. Don’t be cold and make the patient feel stupid for being upset. Saying “I’m sorry, but …” isn’t good enough. You need to reassure the patient that setbacks like this happen and that everything will work out in the end.
  • Doctors shouldn’t hide behind their staff. If the doctor screws up on paperwork, sending staff to deliver the bad news isn’t enough. The doctor should call the patient and personally apologize. For a patient suffering from anxiety, that small personal gesture can be the thing that helps them reset their expectations.
  • Don’t blame HIPAA. People in the medical profession love blaming everything on HIPPA and other laws. When I noted that the botched paperwork was never necessary before, the medical assistant said new laws had taken affect since the last time I had this procedure. I’ve lost count of the times doctors’ offices held back information under the excuse of HIPPA. I’ve been writing about HIPPA in my day job for eight years, and I know you guys violate HIPAA daily. And there are ways to tell patients what they need to know without violating HIPAA.
  • Don’t save paperwork until the last minute. As I’ve said, life happens. In my case, the specialists couldn’t access needed medical records because my primary care physician was called away on a family emergency. If the specialist had sought the paperwork a week or two ago, this wouldn’t have happened.

If you’re in the medical profession and disagree with anything I’ve just said, tell me why. And spare me the HIPAA excuses.

Doctor's Office

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Will E-Cigs Get Me Over Smoking?

Update: July 26, 2012: I’ve been leaning on my crutch like a motherfucker during a trip to Las Vegas. But I haven’t touched the real thing or drank, which is progress.

I’ve been using electronic cigarettes lately. Why, you ask? Let me try to explain.

When I’m in the mood to feel sorry for myself because I can’t do things I’m addicted to, I’ll throw up my hands and ask myself, “What else is there if I can’t drink, smoke, eat flour and sugar and all that other shit?” I’m particularly prone to getting this way when life pushes me outside my comfort zone.

Mood music:

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Life of late has been very good, but it’s also been very fast and exhausting. One big event after the next, lots of mileage on the car plus all the typical pressures we all experience as parents and spouses. A few weeks ago, I started feeling the pressure to the point where I seriously considered resuming the smoking habit.

Why would I do something so stupid, especially after all the trouble I got into with my wife the last time I was busted?

A question like that ignores the most fundamental truth about addictive behavior: When the urge builds up, it becomes a relentless, physical ache. At that point, the brain’s wiring gets all coiled and tangled, and it tightens until you find a way to untangle it. In moments like that, consequences don’t compute.

But as I get older, I refuse to give in so easily. Especially with the smoking, because as bad habits go, it’s probably the worst. That said, the most recent urges got so bad that I turned to e-cigs.

Here’s how they work:

  • The white part that looks like tobacco rolled in white paper is actually a battery.
  • The “flavor cartridge” looks like a filter and is filled with water and flavoring (tobacco, cherry, coffee, chocolate, etc.). You can purchase them with various amounts of nicotine, from the full amount found in a cigarette down to nothing. I’m using them with no nicotine.
  • When you drag off it and inhale, it feels just like smoking, only you’re inhaling water vapor. No smoke, no tar, no cancer-causing carcinogens. And no odor or ashes.
  • The batteries recharge when you screw ’em onto a charger that plugs into the USB port of your laptop, car charger or plug adapter.
  • Each “filter” lasts for about 200 puffs, roughly the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes.

Costs vary. I bought the standard starter kit for $75, which included two batteries, a charger and a couple boxes of cartridges, which seem to be lasting me a long time. I was never a pack-a-day smoker. In fact, I was probably a five-a-day smoker at my worst, which probably has you pack-a-day addicts laughing your heads off. Thing is, I had to have those five. Anyway, my cartridge refills should last a long while.

The hope is that once I’ve inhaled vapor sans nicotine for a while, I will grow bored with it and stop. That’s always been the good thing with me and smoking. When I start back up, I get bored after a while and stop. And that’s with the nicotine.

When I’m done with this experiment, I’ll probably keep one battery in a drawer and give away the other along with what’s left of the cartridges.

Wish me luck, and stay tuned for updates.

For those who want to try it as an alternative to cigarettes, there are a lot of places to find them. Most gas stations with mini marts sell the disposable kind, and most malls have them for sale at kiosks along the main walkways. Online, there are tons of options. Here’s a pretty good list of different brands.

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Teachers Who Ignore Kids With Food Allergies Should Be Fired

When school officials repeatedly fail to protect a child from something like a life-threatening nut allergy, the damage to that child’s mental health is as bad as to their physical health. When that happens, even if the child is physically unharmed, the reaction from us grown-ups should be nothing other than outrage.

Mood music:

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In elementary school, I was banned from any food product with dairy in it. Even a trace of it was forbidden. That was the Crohn’s Disease. I often felt left out when some kid brought cookies to school or the class got to have an ice cream social. But overall, my teachers worked hard to make sure I was taken care of. Say what you will about Revere Public Schools in the 1970s and ’80s; I’ll always be grateful for the care they gave me as a little boy coming to grips with a scary and, back then, rare disease. Today everyone and their grandma seems to have Crohn’s Disease, but at that time the illness was still a mystery to most people, including those in the medical profession.

By contrast, the childhood nut allergies we hear about so much these days aren’t a mystery. Every day you can find a news report about a child having a severe allergy attack and in some cases dying from it.

So when high school friend Carl Sackrison and his wife Glenda told me about their son’s experience in the Methuen Public School System, I was mystified. I’ve had many backs and forth with them over this, and they permitted me to use their names because, as Glenda said, they’ve already been vocal and public about their son’s experiences.

There was the teacher eating Snicker’s bars in front of their son, even though the nut allergy is well-documented. There was an ice cream social where one of the toppings was contaminated with nuts (the container said manufactured in a facility with nuts), resulting in a facial rash and an ER visit for the young boy. And there was the teacher who told the boy that he wasn’t the snack police when he expressed concern that there was food in the room he might get sick from.

“When we sat down to talk about it, he said to me, ‘Why won’t anyone listen to me? Mommy, I just don’t want to die,'” Glenda told me. “This is very heartbreaking to hear knowing that this has been an ongoing issue since he started school and that there is nothing I can do to make it stop to keep him safe while he’s in school.”

When teachers make a child feel like his health is going to be threatened whenever he enters the classroom, it’s a mental health threat as much as a physical one. Glenda and Carl’s son has experienced a worsening anxiety and paranoia as a result of what’s happening in school.

If the school district doesn’t start dealing with it and getting him the help he needs, things will get a lot worse.

The district needs several big kicks in the ass to keep that from happening. Consider this post one such kick in the ass.

Kids and Peanuts

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People Surprise Me Sometimes

The wedding I wrote about a few days ago has come to pass, and it was a great night. Everyone got along, which isn’t always easy in this family, and it was great to see the newlyweds look so happy. It was also a night where a few people defied my expectations.

Mood music:

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Two people I was certain wouldn’t talk to me came up and greeted me warmly. Another couple we haven’t seen in six years greeted us warmly, too. One person, probably the oldest family member in the room, snubbed me, which was a surprise based on our last encounter.

Just goes to show that people are rarely predictable.

It sucks that some of the relationships in the room are damaged. Nobody ever wants it to be that way, but sometimes perfectly good individuals find it impossible to talk to each other without fireworks going off. What looks like something normal or positive to one person comes off as selfish and malicious to the other person.

To some of the bystanders in the room, it just doesn’t make sense. Like Rodney King during the L.A. riots 20 years ago, they ask aloud, “Can’t we all just get along?”

If only life were that sensible.

In the end, though, it’s good to see that people can defy expectations. Whether the outcome is pleasant or not, it goes to show that the future is never set in stone and family discord doesn’t have to last.

It’s been said that with love all things are possible. It’s true.

It’s also true that all things are possible when people who don’t get along make it through an event without coming to verbal or physical blows.

Holding Hands

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Zombies Are Addicts, Too

Zombies have become the new American superhero, revered in countless Facebook memes and magazine articles. Now we have real people eating other real people.

Mood music:

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I normally wouldn’t touch a topic like this, because zombies are a work of fiction. But lately people have been trying hard to will the fiction to life. We have one guy eating the face off a homeless man and another guy eating his buddy’s heart and brain. Somewhere in the news coverage, we started hearing of bath salts, a synthetic drug that turns users into zombies, not the stuff you put in a bath.

I get it. All these reports of cannibalistic behavior make the zombie apocalypse talk too easy to pass up.

But what’s more interesting to me than the zombie jokes is an article about cannibalism as an addictive, obsessive behavior. Though I’m a guy who suffers from an addictive, obsessive personality, I’m still trying to wrap my head around how someone could get addicted to eating their own kind. Huffington Post scribe David Moye wrote an enlightening article on the subject.

In it, he interviews Karen Hylen, primary therapist at Summit Malibu Treatment Center in California. Hylen said that although cannibalism has historically been for survival or religious purposes, recent cases have been caused by addiction or mental illness.

“People who have engaged in this act report feelings of euphoria or get a ‘high’ by performing the action to completion,” she told The Huffington Post. “These individuals have psychopathic tendencies and are generally not psychotic. They know exactly what they are doing.”

According to Hylen, cannibalism starts out as just a fantasy, but when the fantasy is acted on, “the pleasure center of the brain becomes activated and large amounts of dopamine are released — similar to what happens when someone ingests a drug like cocaine.”

The result is similar to those of other addictive behaviors. The addictive needs to experience that pleasure again and repeats the activity, from the hunt to the gruesome end, “just as a cocaine addict becomes addicted to the process of cutting up lines before they ingest the drug itself,” said Hylen.

Addiction and obsessive-compulsive disorders can be damn scary in the random ways they choose to manifest themselves.  If you’re a drug addict who cleans up, you’re called an inspiration. If you’re a cannibal who cleans up, you still go to jail and get called a freak. That’s as it should be, of course.

I’ll just consider myself lucky because my personality latched on to junk food, tobacco and alcohol. It’s easy to gorge on that stuff without having to murder someone.

Those binges have turned me into a zombie many times before. But I was a more acceptable kind of zombie.

There’s a bright side to everything. Even a zombie apocalypse.

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Grief Management Put to Music

Weeks after a loved one dies and we’ve allowed ourselves to fall apart, we have to make a choice: Stay in a fetal position, hidden from the world, or stand up and move forward. This is a little tribute to someone who made the latter choice.

Mood music:

[soundcloud url=”http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/48842027″ iframe=”true” /]

I don’t know Ian Clark very well. We’re connected on Facebook, and I’m very fond of his mom’s band, The 360s (he plays drums in that band and is guitarist/vocalist in a band called Razors in the Night). But I sure as hell know what he’s going through.

A few weeks ago, he lost his best friend and cousin, James Morrill. I’ve watched his family grieve in their Facebook posts, and I can’t help but remember when my brother died unexpectedly in 1984 and my best friend followed suit nearly 13 years later. My friend’s death had a particularly damaging effect on me because that was a suicide. After he passed, I spent the next two years viciously binge-eating my way to 280 pounds of uselessness. Badly depressed, I hid from the world, staying indoors watching Star Trek reruns instead of staying connected with other friends.

You could say I chose to stay in the fetal position.

Since his moment of heartbreak, Ian has plowed ahead with his music and has honored his cousin by writing a song — the one featured as today’s mood music.

So far, I’d say he’s decided to move forward. It inspires me.

I hope he keeps doing what he’s doing — channeling his feelings into the music. Music is one of the best therapies in times of grief. And when you’re writing it, you have the chance to help others make it through their own trials.

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Hit Me Again, I Can Take It

Despite the sometimes divisive topics I write about daily, most of the comments people leave under my posts are positive. But don’t you worry — I take my share of  barbed rebukes as well. Since it can be terribly difficult for some to take criticism, I thought I should share what I’ve learned.

Mood music:

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To show I’m an equal opportunity kinda guy, let me start by sharing the not-so-nice reactions readers have had to my work of late. This one came from a guy who didn’t like my tone in the CSOonline Salted Hash security blog when I told people to stop passing around a hoax Facebook message about privacy rights (or the lack thereof for those who insist on posting everything about themselves):

Wow. Have you ever considered writing in a slightly less condescending, obnoxious manner? It might improve the rate at which your message is successfully received by others … that is, of course, premised on the notion that your words function as a means for communication and not as a tool for artificially boosting your self-esteem.

My response was this:

Sorry you feel that way. It’s not about trying to be condescending. It’s about forcefully arguing a point. You are, of course, welcome to stop reading. No hard feelings.

It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he were one of the people who fell for the Facebook hoax. If he’s embarrassed and lashing me makes him feel better, I’m fine with that.

Yesterday’s post on dealing with dysfunctional family got me a flaming response from a relative who told me I should stop being mean. It was the kind of message that had various words in all caps and lots of exclamation points. In an act of mercy (I didn’t want people to see this person making herself look bad), I deleted the comment, which is rare for me.

Angry comments from family tend to be toughest to digest, but given the semi-autobiographical nature of this blog, I’d be a fool to expect all sunshine and roses.

Happily, most family members who read my posts get where I’m coming from. And I’ve said it before: My memories are my memories. They may not represent the whole unvarnished truth, and there’s always another side to the story. But I tell you things as truthfully as I can, based on how I remember events. It’s but one perspective.

I could stop writing or limit what I do write to the type of stuff that never offends and never tries to get at the truth. But that’s not my style.

If you don’t want to offend or be offended, writing is the wrong profession for you. There are times when you have to take clear, forceful views and  prepare to be violently disagreed with. There are also times when every unpleasant detail must be added to give readers the clearest picture of the points you need to make. I’ve written about some unpleasant childhood memories, but I’ve ended almost all such posts on a positive note, because I know how lucky I am to have the life I’m living.

If you want to disagree with me, go ahead. If you want me to change my approach or my opinions, you may as well stop reading now.

You Can't Handle the Truth

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Four Survival Tips for Dysfunctional Family Events

I’ll admit it: I’m something of a black sheep in my family. There’s a large chunk of family I have little to no communication with. But sometimes big events require us to be together in the same space, like a wedding this coming Saturday. What to do?

Mood music:

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I’m thinking about this because the family member I’m most estranged from sent me a Facebook friend request yesterday. Since she unfriended and blocked me a few months ago, pissed to the gills over this blog and some of the memories I’ve shared here, I decided to decline the invitation. I really don’t need to hear the same old bullshit about how this person is the victim and how my recollections are distorted.

But Erin, the kids and I still have to share the same space with this person on Saturday, so I’m thinking a lot about how we should conduct ourselves. In the process, a survival guide is forming in my head. It is in no way scientific. It may not even work. But it’s what I’ve got so far.

  • Smile and say hello. Sure you can give your estranged loved one an icy stare and cold shoulder, but all that will do is throw tension in the air for everyone to bathe in. That wouldn’t be fair. I despise people who let their selfishness wreck someone else’s special occasion. Just smile and say hello. You don’t have to have a conversation. Just be cordial when face to face. My extended family deserves some credit on this score, because at a wedding over the summer everyone behaved. I think it’ll be the same this time.
  • Don’t stare. If there’s one thing I hate at family gatherings, it’s when people stare at you. I’ve been stared at during all kinds of family events involving all sides of my clan. It leaves me wondering if I have potato salad in my beard or a hole in my pants. I can’t stop people from staring, but I’ve decided not to stare back. Staring contests never end well.
  • Find a buddy. No matter how many people you’re not getting along with, you can always count on finding a few people you are getting along with. Instead of staring at others, find the family and friends you get on well with and spend your the time talking to them.
  • Don’t linger if you’re uncomfortable. Some would say it’s rude and selfish to be the family member who leaves the event early. I disagree. If you linger and your comfort level is stuck in the low setting the whole time, it’ll show in your body language and the people around you will feel it. Why do that to them?  When that’s the case, gracefully remove yourself from the scene.
  • Say your goodbyes, give some hugs and leave.

Help Me Wedding Photo