Epi: “I was at Bowling Green in 1994, about the time the internet really took off.”

Sam: “Oh I remember, I was five –”

Epi: “YOU WERE FIVE? OH Jesus…”

Sam: “You’re not that much older than me! I remember that my Dad brought home this computer and–”

Epi: “YOU. Were. FIVE? When I was in college you were five. I think I’m having chest pains.”

Sam: *giggling* “I could date someone your age and it would only be a little bit creepy.”

Epi: “Only a little bit?”

Yes, folks, I am old. Apparently I’m VERY old.

BTW, I still adore you, Sam… Next time you plan on shattering my self confidence by reminding me of how old I am, bring the Nitro and Morphine, ‘kay?

I’m going to take a few days off… Hopefully it’s JUST a few days. It seems that I’m more worried than I had expected about a few loved ones.

I’ll be reading, however…. :)

Love you all.

I’m participating in a photography project that I’m VERY excited about.

It’s called Pictures and Pie.

The premise is simple… Women from all over the country (the world, really) document their lives for the next 365 days by taking a photo a day. They post the photo to this blog, with a short blurb about it.

If there are any of my girls out there who would like to participate feel free to email me or leave me a comment here and I’ll get back to you.

A very good friend of Mr. Epi and I just lost his 24-year-old son to an aneurysm.

Two weeks ago he was fine. Several days ago he started to feel sick… Today he went to the ER for the second time (with flu-like symptoms X 9 days now), they flew him to Cleveland… Now he’s gone. He’s dead. And Mike has to bury his son.

No one should have to bury their child. No one.

I’ve asked you before, and you’ve come through. Now I’m asking you again. If you’re the praying type… Or even if you’re not… Prayers and good thoughts are needed.

Mike’s Son was a Jr. with two little ones (both under three or so)… Please please send them his way.

Thanks to PJ I stumbled across this piece of brilliance.

Courtesy of Iowahawk, I’m begging you to check out the story of Barack Obama in the style of Homer’s Odyssey.

It’s… beautiful. *wiping a tear*

I’ve always been fascinated by weather phenomena… I live in the midwest, we can get some wicked storms with the threat of a tornado a few times a year… Nothing like a hurricane.

This is the very first time I’ve known some folks that were in the path of a hurricane. Two of them work EMS in La, one of them works in an ED in New Orleans.

I’m nervous, but I know they’ll be safe.

Kelly, Jason and Steph… My prayers and thoughts are with ya. Try to stay dry.

A few more pics from last week.

The Glass Pavilion at the Toledo Museum of Art houses one of the largest collections of glass art in the world. The building itself is primarily constructed of large curved panes of glass that “blur the boundaries between interior and exterior spaces.”

It’s extraordinary to see.

They have these fantastic studios where you can watch artists create beautiful works out of glass. The kids actually sat for almost half an hour watching a Glass Blower. It was impressive.

Here’s a few of my favorites from the Pavilion.

I wish that I had taken down information on this piece, I was fascinated by it.

The Libbey Punchbowl. created for the 1904 World Fair. At the time it was said to be the largest single piece of cut glass in the world. It weighs a whopping 143 lbs. My picture of this piece doesn’t begin to give it justice… It truly sparkles like diamonds and has been one of my favorite pieces at the museum.

The finishing work on the punchbowl (a definite understatement) was done by two of Libbey’s greatest glass workers.

The end result earned the work the World Fair Grand Prize Medal for cut glass. It truly is spectacular to see.

Last but not least, something completely different. As the mother of two little ones, I use a lot of Windex. Given the fact that we were at the GLASS Pavilion, I got a giggle out of this:

Yep. That’s a bottle of Windex, covered in glass seed beads. Priceless. Yet oddly appropriate ;)

A blogger known as Putz left a comment on a post of mine tonight, I felt like I needed to address it here.

Putz said:

“i make up stuff too..i go on trips i really don’t go on and then blog about them and people think i did, and comment back to me on the trip i didn’t take…that is called a lie sweetheart…so you lie also….”

I’m not at all sure what you’re talking about here, Putz. My life, while not the most exciting one, has never been boring enough where I’d have to fabricate stories about trips I’ve taken.

“i once told a person i was ooogled by jessica simpson…no i never was but if you go to my bloogg back in 2006 when i first started to blog i said that and my make believe daughterinlaw blogged back that she thought that was neat..all a lie…so you lie also…”

Wow. So you’ve not only made up stories about being oogled by celebrities, but you’ve created fictitious commenters to comment on the same? Wow. That’s amazing.

“i called it creative expression because i am a writer and i have the RIGHT to do that….what is your excuse for fibbing about hospitals, things you are, towns lived in etc etc etc?????creative license…are you an auther also??????”

Ohhh, so it’s creative expression? You’re a writer? You’re a writer who can’t spell “author”, abuses question marks and in general ignores the basic rules of grammar and capitalization? (Well, I do the same thing, I can’t fault you on that last one.)

Let me address this one point by point.

Have I “fibbed” about hospitals? Yes. Absolutely I have. I’ve never hidden from anyone who has read my blog that facts about my patients, names, locations, the sex and minor details have been changed to keep the HIPAA police from knocking down my door.

Have I ever lied about a town I’ve lived in? What would the point of that be? Point out a case where you believe I’ve lied about a town I’ve lived in, and I’ll gladly provide the proof that I’ve lived there.

Have I ever lied about the things I am? I’m not sure where you’re going with that. I don’t believe that I’ve ever misrepresented the way that I’ve felt during a call, be it terrified or an ocean of calm. I’m pretty damn honest about who I am on here.

“please let this comment go through…all your lukers, commentors have a right to see my comment about you…also your friends are my friends…i blog to the same people you do and they like me, lies and all…i once said that i was a hunk….do you believe me visit my blog and see how much you believe”

The only reason I have my comments moderated is to prevent spam from making it to my comments. That’s the only reason. My Mom always said that if you’re going to put something into print you should be ready to accept the repercussions for it. That being said, if you think I’m a dirty liar, don’t read my blog. Pretty simple, yeah?

So to you, my medblog readers… Let me put this up for discussion.

When you post about a patient interaction, be it an EMS run, a Dialysis patient, and ER story… How much do you change? How much is too much?

Go read what she wrote.

This is why I love the blogging world. The support is incredible. It’s overwhelming.

Thank you, Darlin’.

Look closely.

You’re sure you know me. You have me pegged, right? You’re so confident that you don’t doubt for a second you know exactly who and what I am. You’ve watched me intently, picking me apart. Studying me.

You might think that:

I’m a Mom.
I’m a stress case.
I’m an EMT.
I’m a hypochondriac.
I’m the keeper of the Cheerios and soother of owwie’s.
I’m a photographer.
I’m a bitch.
I’m a sweetheart.
I’m a nail biter, literally and figuratively.
I’m a horrible driver.
I’m confident.
I’m a nervous wreck.
I’m the killer of all things green.
I’m hypercritical.
I’m very laid back.
I’m too cautious.
I’m entirely too impulsive.

I could go on, but you get the idea.

Some of us spend so much time focusing on one aspect of a person that we forget to take a step back. People are more than just the sum of their parts. I’m no different. I hope you see that.

When you analyze someone so closely it’s easy to miss the big picture.

I’m job hunting again.

To my family at the Evil Green Empire…. I’ll miss you terribly.

In the last several weeks Sleepy Partner, McHottie, Quixtar Partner (recently transplanted from the Little Service That Could), and Rebel Partner have all blown the proverbial pop stand. Some of the most amazing people I’ve ever had the privilege to work with. And the Empire just let them go without as much as a civil conversation from management.

Today I followed suit.

I don’t want to go into specifics, but when you find that a bit of your soul dies every day that you call into dispatch to let them know you’re there…. It’s probably time to go.

It was time to go.

So I’m job hunting. To those who remain there… Sue (who is so incredible I can’t come up with a pseudo name for her), The Partner who hopes I die, Coast Guard Guy, Backwoods, Scotty Hottie, Joe Medic, Dana in dispatch, Mama dispatcher, Jodi (thanks for talking me off the cliff this morning, girl!), and everyone else who is hanging in there despite the treatment and low pay… I give you all the credit in the world. You’re stronger than I am. Seriously.

To everyone I’ve gotten to know, either from working with them as a partner for a day, a week, or months… Or just from rubbing elbows in the ambulance bay at one of several hospitals, nursing homes, or dialysis centers… Thank you. You are a phenomenal bunch of people who have taught me volumes about what the EMS family is. We’ll go to war for each other. You’ve proven that time and time again.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I love you guys. I hope things improve for you. I hope they realize what an amazing group of people they have.

Wish me luck.

I LOVE David Cassidy. Watching him on Oprah as we speak. And as a rule I NEVER watch Oprah.

I would totally throw my panties on stage for this guy. Just sayin’.

The full story later… Right now I need a nap.

Who takes a three year old to an art museum. When she hasn’t had a nap. I mean, really?

Matty: Have you grown an inch?

Epi: Are you f’n kidding me? Seriously? I’m 32-years-old.

Matty: Well, you’re walking a little taller I think.

Epi: I haven’t put on any height in over 19 years. Jesus, NINETEEN YEARS? Christ I’m getting old.

Matty: Old and decrepit. But taller. And skinnier.

Epi: Old and decrepit. I see how you are. You go out there and lift morbidly obese patients run after run for months on end and see how YOU feel.

Matty: You were warned that this was the job you were undertaking…

Epi: Shut the hell up.

Matty: Okay, shutting it.

Epi: Do you have any rolaids?

Matty: *biting his tongue* In the cabinet there may be some tums.

Yes folks… My body is breaking down on me. I found out today that my tiny lil gastric bypass pouch has developed an ulcer. I’m beginning treatment with Pepcid and PCN. I hope it works because the alternative sucks royally.

Otherwise known as Adventures in Pottytraining.

“Sweetheart, let’s go have a Potty Party… Come on, honey, let’s go!!!!”

Okay, so I’m not nearly as excited as I’m pretending to be, but She Who Rules is pushing 3 1/2. Homegirl needs to get potty trained before the cost of her diapers bankrupts me.

Jesus, did I just use the phrase Potty Party?

“Uhhhmmmm No.” My daughter, the headstrong one… is less than interested. She’s busy playing with her new Barbie doll. Dora the Explorer is barking out orders on the TV set.

Dora: “Amarillo! Can you say Amarillo? SAY AMARILLO!!!!! SAY IT!!!!!”

Jesus that Dora chick is awful demanding. I turn my attention back to the Little One.

“I think there might be a popsicle waiting for you in there… Do you want a popsicle???”

She Who Rules is now absentmindedly swinging the aforementioned Barbie around by her hair. Ninja Style. “Uhmmm… No. Juice! I want Juice!!!”

JACKPOT!!! Juice it is. Juice I can work with! I run to the kitchen and fetch a Capri Sun. When I return to the living room, my precious angelic baby girl is running her Barbie over with a Tonka truck.

“What? What are you doing? You’re torturing Barbie… She’s going to need an ambulance!” I rescue the bedraggled blonde from the clutches of my precious snowflake. “Come on, Peanut… Let’s go have that party.” I dangle the Capri Sun in front of her, just out of her reach.

Yes, I’m resorting to bribery. I’m a weak weak Mom.

She Who Rules manages to sit on the potty for thirty seconds, happily sucking down her Tropical Punch before jumping to her feet and declaring that she’s done.

“But you haven’t gone potty yet… Why don’t we sit here for a–”

“I’m DONE!!!! I’m DONE I’M DONE I’M DONE!!!!!!!!” Her face contorts into something resembling Satan. If Satan were female. And three.

“Ohhhhkay then. Let’s go put on some big girl panties… Won’t that be cool? Mommy got you some Dora panties!”

Clearly this is not going well.

“Uhmmm… No.”

“But they’re DORA! Look at how pretty they are… They’re pink and have sparkles on them…” I hold them up for her to examine.

She studies them for a minute, pondering. The Jeopardy theme plays in my head.

Please just put the damn panties on, let’s get this show on the road…

“Uhm… Okay!!!!” She Who Rules has given her thumbs up approval to the Dora panties. Hey, it’s a tiny step in the right direction, and it beats letting her run around naked. Which I’m sure she would have preferred.

Flash forward five minutes.

“Little girl, do you have to go potty?” I’m standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Dora has since been replaced by SpongeBob. The tv show, not the panties. At least she’s not torturing Barbie anymore.

“Uhm…. No!” She’s focused all of her attention on guy who lives in a pineapple under the sea.

I creep slowly towards her, hoping, praying, that the element of surprise will work in my favor. I stop short when I realize…

She’s sitting in a puddle.

Dammit.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

You just won the mega powerball jackpot to the tune of 150 million dollars (after taxes)

1. What would be the very first thing you would do? Pay off my debts.

2. Where would you choose to live? Seattle, Colorado Springs, and somewhere south of here. Anywhere south of here.

3. What kind of house would you live in? Two story five bedroom house with a yard as far as the eye can see. And a washer and dryer on the floor with the bedrooms. And a room just for my crafty stuff. There would be a gigantic tree in the backyard with the most impressive treehouse you’ve ever laid eyes on.

4. What kind of car would you buy? Eleanor. (See below)

5. Where would you vacation? I would do some serious traveling. Ireland, Scotland, Paris, Venice, Rome… Followed up by something completely different… I’d go primitive camping out west. Montana maybe. For a month.

6. Would you have anything on your body fixed? My nose.

7. What kind of hobbies would you engage in? I would do a lot more scrapbooking. I have a long way to go to get caught up.

8. What charities would you donate to? Domestic Violence Awareness and Susan G. Komen.

9. Would you give money to your relatives? Absolutely yes. I would pay off everyone’s home and set up college funds for my future nieces and nephews. I would require mandatory counseling for certain members of my family before they’d see a dime.

10.Would you run away from your current life? Some parts of it, yes. Absolutely.

11. Would you continue to work? I can guarantee you I wouldn’t be working at my current employer. I’d love to open a photography studio.

12. Would the money change you in any way? I would like to say no, but I don’t know how realistic that would be. I’d like to think that it would afford me more opportunities to do good. Volunteering and spending more time with my kids.