Thursday, March 25, 2010
Credibility
Promise yourself to be so strong that nothing can disturb your peace of mind.
To talk health, happiness and prosperity to every person you meet.
To make all your friends feel that there is something in them.
To look at the sunny side of everything and make your optimism come true.
To think only of the best, to work only for the best and expect only the best.
To be enthusiastic about the success of others as you are about your own.
To forget the mistakes of the past and press on to greater achievements of the future.
To wear a cheerful countenance at all times and give every living creature you meet a smile.
To give so much time to the improvement of yourself that you have no time to criticize others.
To be too large for worry, too noble for anger, too strong for fear and too happy to permit the presence of trouble.
I have found a little book by a prominent author with inspiring quotes. It is a motivating collection of famous sayings. Alas, this quote was already the second one in the book attributed incorrectly. The thought the words are by an "Anonymous."
Once again, it reminded me that I have to use our own inquisitive mind, rather than just blindly following someone prominent and admire someone famous. Thanks to the Internet search and more thorough researchers, it appears that these are the words written by Christian D. Larson.
The other quote had a very similar wording as the poem frequently being attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson.
I think that thoroughness and truthfulness lead to credibility. Fame and prominence have nothing to do with it.
The other quote had a very similar wording as the poem frequently being attributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson.
I think that thoroughness and truthfulness lead to credibility. Fame and prominence have nothing to do with it.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
About Vitamin B6
I am trying my best to overcome my anxiety before the visit. Same building, different clinic. Maybe, just maybe things will be different this time. They are. There are several people processing paperwork for more than fifty visitors with all kinds of foot problems every hour on the hour. First we have to listen for numbers being called out; later, much later – names will be called. Our "bakery" number is 79; We get to see a doctor two hours later, after the "bakery" numbers go up to a hundred and then from one back to another hundred again.
After the check up, we received some reassurances that Necropathy, a usual condition in progressing diabetes, is not yet severe. It is good that mom is walking for at least 20 minutes a day. The doctor explains to us how to take care of her feet then prescribes Vitamin B6 and off we go.
It appears that not a day goes by without some reminders that proper nutrients are very important for our good health. I learned about the value of Vitamins B from the Nutrition class that I took almost twenty years ago and from researching topics in nutrition in various sources. Today, I truly appreciate learning from the doctor that vitamin B6 can help my mom specifically to slow down progression of nerves dying down in her legs and feet (that is my own crude way of describing Necropathy).Vitamin B6 is among ingredients in our breakfast - Shaklee Energizing Soy Protein (0.5mg) - and Vita-Lea Gold (4mg), daily multivitamin. Shaklee B-Complex provides 27mg B6 per serving. The following information is on the label:
"Promotes Cardiovascular Health
The B vitamins folic acid, B6, and B12 promote a healthy cardiovascular system by helping to maintain low homocysteine levels in the blood. Adequate amounts of folic acid in a healthy die t may reduce the risk of having a child with neural tube birth defects. With the patented Shaklee delivery system for folic acid, the immediate release of this nutrient in the stomach is enhanced, making it readily available for absorption. The eight B vitamins catalyze hundreds of critical biochemical reactions in the body, such as converting the foods we eat into energy. They also are essential in carbohydrate, fat, and protein metabolism, and in the synthesis of DNA and new cells.
No artificial colors, flavors, sweeteners, or preservatives added."Shaklee B-Complex is on my next order. The bottle that I am reading off of is empty.
We are walking slowly, very slowly. But this is only one point of view. My mom is frustrated that we are going too fast, way too fast. By now, I know already that she is more frustrated about her slow pace keeping me from moving on faster. There are two points of view, two opinions, but there is only one thing that is truly important in this situation: we are WALKING. Several hours of waiting in a roomful of people with all kinds of foot and leg problems makes me appreciate ability to walk once again. With current medical appointments behind us already, and with the spring Sun shining brightly, I am trying my best not to worry about looming threat of Necropathy.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
What has happened on the way to the clinic.
Today the appointment for a test was set for 10:00 A.M. Days before, the automatic hospital messaging system had informed us repeatedly that a patient has to arrive one hour early and register in room so and so. Hence, my mission for the day, like many times in the past, is clear: deliver the patient – my eighty-year-old mother – for the prescribed test on time, find the location, present the necessary documents to whomever is attending the desk, wait for the tests to be done and bring mom safely home. An obvious and clear routine. If only it would have been so simple and easy this time.
The patient is in the building one and a half hours early and goes to the designated room on the first floor to register. I will come back half an hour later, after parking our car in a parking space blocks away from the facility. The registration room is packed to capacity, and the air is so thick that it is even hard to breath. Thanks to some compassionate people, my mom does get seated. One could be sitting there with a bakery number in hand all day just to find out that you are in the wrong place; you had to report directly to the testing area of the humongous hospital in the first place. Fortunately for us, this lovely spring morning there is a person at a computer on one side of the large room, and I decide to take a chance and ask her if we are in the right place after all. Seeing me wondering with a lost look on my face, the woman barks at me “you should stand behind the line.” “Yes, mam, “ I think to myself and comply with the order, I know better than not to, I’ve been pushed around a few times in my lifetime before AARP started a vigorous campaign to recruit me as their new member.
My turn to talk came as a couple moved away from the clerk’s desk. With a grumpy look on her face, the clerk told me just what I suspected: “she (e.g., my mother) should go directly to the second floor, the section so and so…” “Thank you,” I say, and we start a long journey again. Eighty years is an impressive age, especially for my mom, who is as bright, as she always was, and as interested in life as any intelligent person would be. Alas, a brittle form of diabetes is wearing her out little by little in front of my eyes. Those who have had relatives who have the illness, or suffer from it themselves, know what I am talking about here. To those who do not know what this illness is all about, I do not wish it upon you. Diabetes is a very heavy “cross to bear.”
Witnessing my mom’s long suffering from the illness, I started learning to appreciate simple things in life, like not having sudden hypoglycemia attacks, being able to walk without pain, not having to keep watching the clock for insulin shots, medications and meals, being able to walk and even run. Being able to see not just bright light spots, but the smallest details of life around me is also a gift that one day could be lost by any of us. My mom’s illness has direct impact on my own life, but I've digressed here, and must get back to the events of the day.
Finally, after covering the distance of the length that feels like a few city blocks, we are in the right section of the building. Now the assignment for the designated driver/helper (e.g. – me) is clear: talk to the person at the desk and find out what kind of paperwork has to be submitted. The face behind the desk is less than friendly right from the start: “Put this in the tray and sit down.” My second question is cut off with the same abrupt phrase barked at me repeatedly. Alright, I’ve been barked at this morning already. So, I sit down. Mom is tired as tired can be from the long walk, and her eye is filling up with blood again: progression of retinophaty. Strangely, I fear her going blind more than she does. She is quite a trooper.
The waiting room is spacious, many empty seats. Once in a while, some people cross the room back and forth and disappear behind the closed doors into the mystical world of PROCEDURES. We, along with a couple of other visitors, are left with our thoughts and with the clock ticking on the wall. The arrows slowly but surely are moving toward the appointed time. Silence of the dimly lit waiting room is being interrupted by a repetitive clicking noise. I do not pay much attention to it... that is, until much later, when this sound becomes an epitome of indifference and unprofessional attitude to fellow human beings who are here only to receive service.
Half an hour passed, but the clerk did not even look at the paper that I’ve placed in the tray as was told. The lonely sheet is just laying there, undesirable, just like me and my mom in that unwelcoming place. I finally walk up to the reception counter and ask, if my mom will be seen on time, only five minutes are left until her designated appointment time. From many years of having experiences in similar situations, I know that there has to be paperwork filled out and signed, and it is not a trivial task for a half-blind, and half deaf older person, who still insists on doing many things independently. Yes, I do help her, but she still wants to know what sort of papers she must sign.
The clerk assured me that my mother will be seen on time for her procedure. Fair enough, but it is 9:55 (One hour and forty five minutes since our arrival at the clinic). I have to sit down and we will wait some more. Finally, we hear my mom’s name shouted across the room. She walks up to the desk of the “keeper of the gate” and receives a form to fill out. Mom is a polite person, I’d say overly polite, and that, unfortunately, is perceived as a green light to disrespect and mentally abuse her as it happened many times before in various situations. When she came back with the clip board, I noticed that her form is in Polish. In mounting frustration, I grabbed the clipboard from my mom and rushed to the counter again, requesting the form in English. Here we all could judge me, and I could say “the devil made me do it,” but now, reflecting on the entire situation, what made me voice my opinion about the clerk’s attitude out loud was frustration boiling over from experiences over my life time with all kinds of rude, incompetent people with cushy jobs behind "important" desks. With more and more gray hairs in my head, I can no longer stand mental abuse directed neither to my mom, nor to me, especially from those, who are there to help, and not to obstruct, jeopardize and sabotage simple work flows, procedures and tasks of customer service.
Yes, I could not resist making a stern remark, wondering if stapling a pile of handouts is more important to this specific person than attending to the clinic patients. Then, using the same tone of voice as I was spoken to (we all teach each other, don’t we?) I kept repeating that I need the form in ENGLISH. In response to my request, I was informed in a very loud voice that she will not stand me being in “her clinic.” My jaw just “hit the floor,” not literally, of course, and I reminded the woman that I, as a taxpayer do contributed to the clinic, how could it be “her clinic.” (What an argument, really, and most importantly very “original” in this day and age.)
“I am also a tax payer!!! You will not tell me how to do my job!!!” – The angry voice is coming from the other side of the desk. What do you, readers, think? Could it be a good material for the “Saturday Night Live?” Believe me, if some of the visitors dosed off for some time, they were wide awake by this point in time. Wow oh Wow! Did I touch a hot spot (e.g. – Ego) or what!
That’s all, folks, honest admission. You will think that I am hiding something. Alas, I wish the situation would have been spicier than this, which would have made the story more interesting for you to read. On the contrary, there were no swearing words, no threats coming from my mouth, just stern tone of voice expressing my strong disappointment and dissatisfaction with the quality of customer service and indifference regarding a patient's (my mother’s) needs.
You might wonder what has happened afterward. After all, it would not be fair just to leave you in suspense, would it? Thus, a “O.K.”, here it comes:
“Get out of MY clinic!!!” “I will not have you in MY clinic!!!” “I will call security and will escort you out of MY Clinic!!!” The exclamation marks indicate the level of the voice of the attending clerk. No kidding, friends, while we were filling out the form in English (by the way, I had to find the other form on the counter myself; my repeated request to give us the English form was completely ignored at this point in time). Then the woman behind the desk had phoned the security-police. In her first sentence was the following statement: “She is white!” Now that explained to me the entire ordeal and the attitude of indifference and lack of courtesy on the part of the clerk.
Around ten minutes passed away, way past the appointment time, and one after another two officers walked into the room. After receiving instructions from the receptionist, they walked up to me and without asking me what has happened gave me a directive to leave the facility, so they could talk to me "outside." Why? On what grounds? Why they considered their right to violate my rights as a citizen to escort me out of the public place when the entire incident was caused by the incompetent and rude employee of the clinic? What right did she have to be rude to me and to request me out of “her” clinic? Why someone who is so easily disturbed by visitors’ dissatisfaction regarding their service is allowed to work there in the first place? Is she not trained to deal with frustrated visitors who feel ignored, and unwelcome, and have to wait for the unknown seams like forever? What exceptional right does she have to racially profile visitors of the clinic instructing the police to “hunt down” the white one?
Later, in the administrative offices, I will be told that the main concern of the hospital is for my mom to have her test: the hospital's main objective is concern for the patients. Oh, really! Why then they put people in charge of customer service who are sabotaging the scheduling set by the hospital, and provide visitors with anything but clear and precise information, instructions, and with at least bearable quality of customer service. Why they are allowed to “bark” commands at visitors, behave as if visitors do disturb them, and why do they not even listen to the visitors’ concerns and questions, interrupting people who talk to them half way through their sentence.
These questions are open to this day, and, I believe, will not be answered simply and easily in the near future. Police assumed that there were legal grounds for removing me from the waiting area of the public place before all facts were in, so, they removed me from the premises. They chose to publicly humiliate a middle-aged woman and an elder woman. The clerk told her story to the police in the presence of everyone in the room, and my side of the story was supposed to be told to the officers outside, without witnesses. Still, one of the two officers chose to listen patiently, and I explained to him the other side of the story. Another officer told my mom to shut up; he told her that he would not listen to her, and accused her of making racial remarks after she told him that she is frequently being ignored and treated in that hospital like a second-sort citizen. I do not envy the officer's mom. A young man talking like this to an eighty-year old woman….
My mother left the waiting area with me only after we repeatedly asked the officers to return her ID back from the clerk. We were not about to leave her documents “hostage” with the “courteous” clerk. I hate to disappoint you here. No, I was not hand-cuffed. I only received a suggestion to go to talk to patients’ advocate or the administrator and voice my complaint. I chose the latter. With my heart pounding like a mallet on a rock, I felt that no one will help us today. Obviously, the procedure that prompted security to act the way they did demonstrated to us, that "customer is always wrong." We were assumed guilty as charged by the “owner of the clinic.”
When we reached the administrative office, I was hoping that someone will be able to take my mom back for her procedure, since I am no longer allowed on the premises of the clinic. At this time, my mom, too distressed from the unusual experience, refused to return to the second floor section “so and so.”. Who could blame her?
Now, I only needed one thing – the name of the “courteous, attentive and caring” receptionist. Here we have a start of the entirely different story. However, I will not try your patience anymore, and will summarize it here briefly. It took another hour to finally determine who was the person who ordered me escorted out of “her clinic” One administrator was calling another administrator who called on yet another administrator. And the clock kept persistently ticking. It would be funny if it would not be sad: I suddenly realized that it is a very difficult task for the hospital administration to easily figure out who is working where at any given time in that huge public facility. Supposedly, J. F. is the keeper of the gate, as a pleasant well-mannered supervisor (in my view, the only truly understanding official) finally told me. Others did not want to tell me the name of the rude and indifferent receptionist claiming that they do not know who she is. They wanted all of us to have a meeting at this time. I refused their insistence to tell them the entire story all over again. I imagine, the police would share their findings with the hospital administration, wouldn’t they? Besides, my mom was clearly suffering and pleading with me just to go home. Of course it was exhausting for her to be wondering through the long corridors of the building and waiting, waiting, and receiving no clear information as to when and how long the procedure will take.
When all is said and done (or written in this case), I strongly feel that my mother and I, we both had received a deliberately lousy service and mental and emotional abuse from the desk clerk J.F. It has caused us unwelcome anxiety, humiliation and our rights as private citizens were violated. We left the clinic. My mom chose not to stay there a minute longer.
Was the hospital's first and foremost concern really about patient's needs in this instance? What I took out of this entire experience is that it is necessary to just shut up no matter what, listen to the commands barked from behind the desks, sit down (“sit, dogie, sit!”) and wait, wait, wait. After all, papers on the desks are always more important than people, aren’t they?
I am sorry, mom, that I did not shut up and sit down this time. I have a lousy excuse: as I age too, it is becoming increasingly difficult to witness directed at you, or take myself another mental and emotional abuse from complete strangers who are “in charge.”
The patient is in the building one and a half hours early and goes to the designated room on the first floor to register. I will come back half an hour later, after parking our car in a parking space blocks away from the facility. The registration room is packed to capacity, and the air is so thick that it is even hard to breath. Thanks to some compassionate people, my mom does get seated. One could be sitting there with a bakery number in hand all day just to find out that you are in the wrong place; you had to report directly to the testing area of the humongous hospital in the first place. Fortunately for us, this lovely spring morning there is a person at a computer on one side of the large room, and I decide to take a chance and ask her if we are in the right place after all. Seeing me wondering with a lost look on my face, the woman barks at me “you should stand behind the line.” “Yes, mam, “ I think to myself and comply with the order, I know better than not to, I’ve been pushed around a few times in my lifetime before AARP started a vigorous campaign to recruit me as their new member.
My turn to talk came as a couple moved away from the clerk’s desk. With a grumpy look on her face, the clerk told me just what I suspected: “she (e.g., my mother) should go directly to the second floor, the section so and so…” “Thank you,” I say, and we start a long journey again. Eighty years is an impressive age, especially for my mom, who is as bright, as she always was, and as interested in life as any intelligent person would be. Alas, a brittle form of diabetes is wearing her out little by little in front of my eyes. Those who have had relatives who have the illness, or suffer from it themselves, know what I am talking about here. To those who do not know what this illness is all about, I do not wish it upon you. Diabetes is a very heavy “cross to bear.”
Witnessing my mom’s long suffering from the illness, I started learning to appreciate simple things in life, like not having sudden hypoglycemia attacks, being able to walk without pain, not having to keep watching the clock for insulin shots, medications and meals, being able to walk and even run. Being able to see not just bright light spots, but the smallest details of life around me is also a gift that one day could be lost by any of us. My mom’s illness has direct impact on my own life, but I've digressed here, and must get back to the events of the day.
Finally, after covering the distance of the length that feels like a few city blocks, we are in the right section of the building. Now the assignment for the designated driver/helper (e.g. – me) is clear: talk to the person at the desk and find out what kind of paperwork has to be submitted. The face behind the desk is less than friendly right from the start: “Put this in the tray and sit down.” My second question is cut off with the same abrupt phrase barked at me repeatedly. Alright, I’ve been barked at this morning already. So, I sit down. Mom is tired as tired can be from the long walk, and her eye is filling up with blood again: progression of retinophaty. Strangely, I fear her going blind more than she does. She is quite a trooper.
The waiting room is spacious, many empty seats. Once in a while, some people cross the room back and forth and disappear behind the closed doors into the mystical world of PROCEDURES. We, along with a couple of other visitors, are left with our thoughts and with the clock ticking on the wall. The arrows slowly but surely are moving toward the appointed time. Silence of the dimly lit waiting room is being interrupted by a repetitive clicking noise. I do not pay much attention to it... that is, until much later, when this sound becomes an epitome of indifference and unprofessional attitude to fellow human beings who are here only to receive service.
Half an hour passed, but the clerk did not even look at the paper that I’ve placed in the tray as was told. The lonely sheet is just laying there, undesirable, just like me and my mom in that unwelcoming place. I finally walk up to the reception counter and ask, if my mom will be seen on time, only five minutes are left until her designated appointment time. From many years of having experiences in similar situations, I know that there has to be paperwork filled out and signed, and it is not a trivial task for a half-blind, and half deaf older person, who still insists on doing many things independently. Yes, I do help her, but she still wants to know what sort of papers she must sign.
The clerk assured me that my mother will be seen on time for her procedure. Fair enough, but it is 9:55 (One hour and forty five minutes since our arrival at the clinic). I have to sit down and we will wait some more. Finally, we hear my mom’s name shouted across the room. She walks up to the desk of the “keeper of the gate” and receives a form to fill out. Mom is a polite person, I’d say overly polite, and that, unfortunately, is perceived as a green light to disrespect and mentally abuse her as it happened many times before in various situations. When she came back with the clip board, I noticed that her form is in Polish. In mounting frustration, I grabbed the clipboard from my mom and rushed to the counter again, requesting the form in English. Here we all could judge me, and I could say “the devil made me do it,” but now, reflecting on the entire situation, what made me voice my opinion about the clerk’s attitude out loud was frustration boiling over from experiences over my life time with all kinds of rude, incompetent people with cushy jobs behind "important" desks. With more and more gray hairs in my head, I can no longer stand mental abuse directed neither to my mom, nor to me, especially from those, who are there to help, and not to obstruct, jeopardize and sabotage simple work flows, procedures and tasks of customer service.
Yes, I could not resist making a stern remark, wondering if stapling a pile of handouts is more important to this specific person than attending to the clinic patients. Then, using the same tone of voice as I was spoken to (we all teach each other, don’t we?) I kept repeating that I need the form in ENGLISH. In response to my request, I was informed in a very loud voice that she will not stand me being in “her clinic.” My jaw just “hit the floor,” not literally, of course, and I reminded the woman that I, as a taxpayer do contributed to the clinic, how could it be “her clinic.” (What an argument, really, and most importantly very “original” in this day and age.)
“I am also a tax payer!!! You will not tell me how to do my job!!!” – The angry voice is coming from the other side of the desk. What do you, readers, think? Could it be a good material for the “Saturday Night Live?” Believe me, if some of the visitors dosed off for some time, they were wide awake by this point in time. Wow oh Wow! Did I touch a hot spot (e.g. – Ego) or what!
That’s all, folks, honest admission. You will think that I am hiding something. Alas, I wish the situation would have been spicier than this, which would have made the story more interesting for you to read. On the contrary, there were no swearing words, no threats coming from my mouth, just stern tone of voice expressing my strong disappointment and dissatisfaction with the quality of customer service and indifference regarding a patient's (my mother’s) needs.
You might wonder what has happened afterward. After all, it would not be fair just to leave you in suspense, would it? Thus, a “O.K.”, here it comes:
“Get out of MY clinic!!!” “I will not have you in MY clinic!!!” “I will call security and will escort you out of MY Clinic!!!” The exclamation marks indicate the level of the voice of the attending clerk. No kidding, friends, while we were filling out the form in English (by the way, I had to find the other form on the counter myself; my repeated request to give us the English form was completely ignored at this point in time). Then the woman behind the desk had phoned the security-police. In her first sentence was the following statement: “She is white!” Now that explained to me the entire ordeal and the attitude of indifference and lack of courtesy on the part of the clerk.
Around ten minutes passed away, way past the appointment time, and one after another two officers walked into the room. After receiving instructions from the receptionist, they walked up to me and without asking me what has happened gave me a directive to leave the facility, so they could talk to me "outside." Why? On what grounds? Why they considered their right to violate my rights as a citizen to escort me out of the public place when the entire incident was caused by the incompetent and rude employee of the clinic? What right did she have to be rude to me and to request me out of “her” clinic? Why someone who is so easily disturbed by visitors’ dissatisfaction regarding their service is allowed to work there in the first place? Is she not trained to deal with frustrated visitors who feel ignored, and unwelcome, and have to wait for the unknown seams like forever? What exceptional right does she have to racially profile visitors of the clinic instructing the police to “hunt down” the white one?
Later, in the administrative offices, I will be told that the main concern of the hospital is for my mom to have her test: the hospital's main objective is concern for the patients. Oh, really! Why then they put people in charge of customer service who are sabotaging the scheduling set by the hospital, and provide visitors with anything but clear and precise information, instructions, and with at least bearable quality of customer service. Why they are allowed to “bark” commands at visitors, behave as if visitors do disturb them, and why do they not even listen to the visitors’ concerns and questions, interrupting people who talk to them half way through their sentence.
These questions are open to this day, and, I believe, will not be answered simply and easily in the near future. Police assumed that there were legal grounds for removing me from the waiting area of the public place before all facts were in, so, they removed me from the premises. They chose to publicly humiliate a middle-aged woman and an elder woman. The clerk told her story to the police in the presence of everyone in the room, and my side of the story was supposed to be told to the officers outside, without witnesses. Still, one of the two officers chose to listen patiently, and I explained to him the other side of the story. Another officer told my mom to shut up; he told her that he would not listen to her, and accused her of making racial remarks after she told him that she is frequently being ignored and treated in that hospital like a second-sort citizen. I do not envy the officer's mom. A young man talking like this to an eighty-year old woman….
My mother left the waiting area with me only after we repeatedly asked the officers to return her ID back from the clerk. We were not about to leave her documents “hostage” with the “courteous” clerk. I hate to disappoint you here. No, I was not hand-cuffed. I only received a suggestion to go to talk to patients’ advocate or the administrator and voice my complaint. I chose the latter. With my heart pounding like a mallet on a rock, I felt that no one will help us today. Obviously, the procedure that prompted security to act the way they did demonstrated to us, that "customer is always wrong." We were assumed guilty as charged by the “owner of the clinic.”
When we reached the administrative office, I was hoping that someone will be able to take my mom back for her procedure, since I am no longer allowed on the premises of the clinic. At this time, my mom, too distressed from the unusual experience, refused to return to the second floor section “so and so.”. Who could blame her?
Now, I only needed one thing – the name of the “courteous, attentive and caring” receptionist. Here we have a start of the entirely different story. However, I will not try your patience anymore, and will summarize it here briefly. It took another hour to finally determine who was the person who ordered me escorted out of “her clinic” One administrator was calling another administrator who called on yet another administrator. And the clock kept persistently ticking. It would be funny if it would not be sad: I suddenly realized that it is a very difficult task for the hospital administration to easily figure out who is working where at any given time in that huge public facility. Supposedly, J. F. is the keeper of the gate, as a pleasant well-mannered supervisor (in my view, the only truly understanding official) finally told me. Others did not want to tell me the name of the rude and indifferent receptionist claiming that they do not know who she is. They wanted all of us to have a meeting at this time. I refused their insistence to tell them the entire story all over again. I imagine, the police would share their findings with the hospital administration, wouldn’t they? Besides, my mom was clearly suffering and pleading with me just to go home. Of course it was exhausting for her to be wondering through the long corridors of the building and waiting, waiting, and receiving no clear information as to when and how long the procedure will take.
When all is said and done (or written in this case), I strongly feel that my mother and I, we both had received a deliberately lousy service and mental and emotional abuse from the desk clerk J.F. It has caused us unwelcome anxiety, humiliation and our rights as private citizens were violated. We left the clinic. My mom chose not to stay there a minute longer.
Was the hospital's first and foremost concern really about patient's needs in this instance? What I took out of this entire experience is that it is necessary to just shut up no matter what, listen to the commands barked from behind the desks, sit down (“sit, dogie, sit!”) and wait, wait, wait. After all, papers on the desks are always more important than people, aren’t they?
I am sorry, mom, that I did not shut up and sit down this time. I have a lousy excuse: as I age too, it is becoming increasingly difficult to witness directed at you, or take myself another mental and emotional abuse from complete strangers who are “in charge.”
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Time for some fresh laundry
I have discovered Shaklee by myself. Just like you, I had no idea what that word had meant and represented. I had no one to convince me to join or to purchase anything. It was an independent decision. My opinions and statements in this journal are always based on my personal experiences and the experiences and ideas of those whom I do trust. Ever since I became a part of Shaklee family, the brand became one of my favorites, and I am now proud to represent the company as and Independent Shaklee Distributor.
Today is one of those absolutely beautiful sunny spring days, and I thought that it would be great to dry my laundry on the line outside, in the back yard. No, I am not hanging out my "dirty laundry" here. Quite contrary, a very clean one. Hence, today my journal entry has to do with this chore.
First of all, I do not like the smorgasbord of harsh scents that prevail in that area of the store, and, secondly, I do not want to add any more strong chemicals into my home. I am not sure about you, but I feel that my lungs could use some “breather”. One way to do it is to spend some time in the fresh air (fresh air in the city? Oh sure!!!), and I have to be grateful to my dog for not letting me miss our daily walks. Another way is to start eliminating harsh chemicals from my home, and Shaklee brand helped me to do just that. In addition, I do receive 15% off market price, and certain rewards as a distributor. Why don’t you try some of these products and tell me how they work for you?
Why these products are so special in my opinion? Here are the main features of Shaklee Get Clean products that, in my view, can’t be easily beat:
- Safe: nontoxic, no harmful fumes, phthalates, bisphenol-A, or 1,4-dioxane to help keep home healthy, safe for the entire family.
- Powerful: outperforms 22 national brands guaranteed.
- Biodegradable: and packaging is recyclable, designed to reduce waste.
- Concentrated: save energy and eliminates excess packaging
- Thrifty choice: save thousands of dollars versus conventional, ready-to-use cleaners, 100% money-back guarantee.
Once the Get Clean came out, I had purchased the kit. A famous TV personality had the kit featured on her show. Everyone then went and bought it. I bought it not because someone with influential opinion suggested it, but because I new already that this company stands for safety and quality in consumer products. I do not need someone rich and famous to tell me what to use. My own head is still working a O.K., at least for now.
After further exploring and reading some materials, I learned that I made a very good brand choice with Shaklee. Besides, after reading his writings, I have the highest respect for Dr. Shaklee, who started it all more that half a century ago.
Through the years, in our household we have tried all Shaklee Cleaning products. And my personal favorites are laundry and kitchen cleaners. It still amazes me how well without any harsh artificial chemicals I can remove stains and wash my laundry really clean and bright. As for Basic H2, I have never seen another natural highly concentrated product that is such a versatile cleaner: floors, windows, various other surfaces - you name it, it cleans it. I put a few drops into a 16 oz. spray bottle with water and clean greasy film from kitchen cabinShaklee distributoret doors with ease. My all time favorite is the Scour Off™ Heavy Duty Paste: an efficient cleaner with the scent of cherries. What could be better than some powerful and safe cleaning product in helping with very important but the least rewarding and tedious tasks of cleaning.
You do not believe me? Try some Shaklee cleaning products from my online store, and see for yourself. If they do not meet your expectations, you’ll get your money back. That’s Shaklee company guarantee. If you would like to have an on-line store of your own, choose me as your coach, and I will assist you with everything that entails being a Shaklee distributor. It only make sense to purchase things from yourself, and even get rewarded for it.
Fortunately for us, we do not have people who suffer from asthma in our family. But I keep hearing that Shaklee cleaning products help to prevent severe asthma attacks . If you have some stories related to health and cleaning products, I would like to hear from you.
Sun will set soon. My laundry is done. What a relief. I’ll talk to you some other day.
Sincerely,
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
What truly Matters in Life
The other day, a friend gave to me a clip out of a local paper with the following quotation:
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the strong - because someday you will have been all of these." - George Washington Carver
George Washington Carver,
* Born: c. 1860
* Birthplace: Diamond Grove, Missouri
* Died: 5 January 1943
* Best Known As: America's great peanut innovator"
"a celebrated botanist and inventor at a time when it was still rare for African-Americans to reach those heights. The son of a Missouri slave, Carver grew up to attend Iowa State University, earning a bachelor's degree in 1894 and a master's in 1896. He then joined the faculty of Booker T. Washington's Tuskegee Institute. His attempts to find crop alternatives to cotton led him to the peanut; eventually he created more than 325 products from the humble legume, helping to create demand for the plant and establish it as a major American crop. Carver also worked with sweet potatoes, soybeans and pecans, among other plants, and is often credited with changing the face of agriculture in the American south."- Answers.com
"How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving, and tolerant of the weak and the strong - because someday you will have been all of these." - George Washington Carver
George Washington Carver,
* Born: c. 1860
* Birthplace: Diamond Grove, Missouri
* Died: 5 January 1943
* Best Known As: America's great peanut innovator"
"a celebrated botanist and inventor at a time when it was still rare for African-Americans to reach those heights. The son of a Missouri slave, Carver grew up to attend Iowa State University, earning a bachelor's degree in 1894 and a master's in 1896. He then joined the faculty of Booker T. Washington's Tuskegee Institute. His attempts to find crop alternatives to cotton led him to the peanut; eventually he created more than 325 products from the humble legume, helping to create demand for the plant and establish it as a major American crop. Carver also worked with sweet potatoes, soybeans and pecans, among other plants, and is often credited with changing the face of agriculture in the American south."- Answers.com
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Team Shaklee Athletes
Team Shaklee Athletes
At the October 2009 pre-launch party of Shaklee Energy™ the top names in the U.S. Ski Team and U.S. Snowboarding talked about why they like Shaklee Energy™ and how they use it to get the edge and keep it when they train and perform.*
Safe, natural energy with ingredients that deliver performance every time is absolutely key to our athlete’s performance to help keep them alert, energized and focused, and our “little chew with a big future” gives our elite athletes the healthy edge they need.*
But, Shaklee Energy™ is not just for athletes, it’s for anyone. So, share this video clip from the 2010 Action ! DVD with everyone who could use a Healthy Edge.
Safe, natural energy with ingredients that deliver performance every time is absolutely key to our athlete’s performance to help keep them alert, energized and focused, and our “little chew with a big future” gives our elite athletes the healthy edge they need.*
But, Shaklee Energy™ is not just for athletes, it’s for anyone. So, share this video clip from the 2010 Action ! DVD with everyone who could use a Healthy Edge.
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