The Ravell'd Sleave
12 March 2025
Revisiting Some Oldies But Goodies
10 March 2025
A Birthday Post
04 March 2025
In My Next Life ...
I had an appointment yesterday for my annual mammogram and a breast ultrasound. My appointment for the mammogram was for 9:30 a.m., and the ultrasound was at 10 a.m. I arrived as instructed by 9:15. I got home at 2:30 p.m.
My appointment was in a brand, spanking new, high-end, all-the-bells-and-whistles new building. Previously, I had gone to another building about a block away, and though it was likely about 40 years old, it wasn't an awful place to wait and/or have the appointments. So I was curious to see how the new place was so much better and more wonderful.
By the time I left, I decided that I should become a "patient consultant" to places building new and "better" facilities. Because this one had lots of issues.
Aesthetically, it is fine - new and "modern" looking, but not in an overly offensive way. No one would mistake it for anything other than a 2000s medical building, at least here in the U.S.
You enter into a glass-enclosed atrium. There are upholstered chairs placed in different areas of the lobby, along with the requisite large potted plants. And as you look around, there are kiosks situated along part of one wall, and tucked wayyyyy into a corner is a very small desk console with "Information Desk" on it in barely visible signage. There are three different elevator banks, again with barely visible signage, telling you what elevators go to what floors.
The kiosks are apparently where you initially "check-in." My instructions said to bypass those and head directly to the 4th floor. I was grateful for that, because I could tell that many people trying to use the kiosks (some quite elderly, and some for whom clearly English was not their first language) were having troubles, and there were lines behind them of 4-5 people each, which I'm sure didn't help.
I got to the 4th floor, and for the first time saw a decent sign telling me where to go. However, once there, it was unclear if someone worked there to check you in. I did find that person, behind a screen, and got checked in.
After waiting a while, my name was called and I was directed to the Changing Room to change into the hospital gown for said procedures. The "lockers" provided to store your clothes, etc., were the size of a cubby at a pre-school. So you were supposed to put your winter coat AND your clothes in there. The person directing me said to bring my purse and any valuables with me, because the locking systems on said lockers didn't work. She vaguely pointed down the hall to the waiting room. And the hospital gown was in fact not a gown, but a cape - I spent an inordinate amount of time looking for something resembling a sleeve until I figured THAT out!
The waiting room as a) tiny, and b) had couches. Only. No individual chairs. Now I don't know about you, but I don't really enjoy sitting on couches with people I dont' know. Plus, couches encourage people to spread themselves and their belongings out, and there was a lot of woman-spreading happening. There was absolutely nothing else in the waiting room - not even a fake plant. And at one point, a couple of people had to stand, because the room was small and there was not any seating left. I was in there for an hour and a half, and let me tell you, I got really tired of just looking at my phone. There weren't even any "paintings" on the wall to stare at senselessly.
Then I got called for the mammogram. Holy crap, that room was HUGE! I am not kidding when I say it was approximately the size of our first floor in our house. And yes, there was lots of equipment, but there was also enough space to host a gathering.
Then I was sent to another waiting room to wait for the ultrasound. Same set up as the first room. I waited in there for 2 hours. Finally got called to the ultrasound room, which seemed much more reasonable, size-wise. Then sent back to the waiting room to wait for the doctor and get the report from both tests. Another 2 hours.
Once that was over, I was told to go back to the changing and leave by the "exit door, not the same door you came in when you first arrived." So I wandered down a poorly-marked hallway until I saw a small sign that said "Changing Room." It looked vaguely familiar and fortunately, it was the right place. Then I had to find my way to the exit, which was once again a) circuitous, and b) poorly designated, signage-wise.
When I FINALLY got home, I decided that in my next life, I should set myself up in business as a person who represents "the public" whenever someone is planning a new building. Because this new building may have been bigger, brighter, and contain more/better (?) technology, but it was a disaster as far as design usage was concerned for patients. I was honestly appalled, because the older building I was used to was only frustratingly the same as far as the small, cubby-sized lockers. It was the one thing I had expected to be an improvemenet in the new building.
Once again, I told myself that in a Bridget-centric world, that building could have been so much better. Unlike most of the time, I hope I get one of those surveys they send after an appointment - I have a lot to tell them!
On top of which - I have to go back for another test at the end of the month - GAH! I told The Tim that maybe I should pack a lunch ...
28 February 2025
What, Pray Tell, Have I Been Doing?
25 February 2025
Amusing
Today was my weekly shift taking care of adoptable kitties. Usually at least one person stops by to see them, and asks how to adopt them, etc. And of course, because they are people, there's a wide variety of comments, questions, etc. And today, one of them amused me, even if it was for the wrong reasons.
A woman stopped by to see the cats. At the moment, there are three tuxedo kitties, not related to each other, all different ages. One is 4 months old, and as you can imagine, she is bouncing all over her cage, having hilarious times with her toys. Another is a boy, 7 months old, who loves playing with his wand toy. And the third one is a year old female, who is very cuddly and likes to be brushed.
A woman came to look at them, and she was in love with the kitten. She told me that her previous cat got hit by a car because she was outside, and I said if she adopted from our group, she would have to sign a contract to keep the cat inside. She pretty much ignored that and kept going. She took at brief look at the boy, and said she didn't want a male cat, she wanted the kitten. She didn't want the year old cat, because she is "too old, weird looking, and has an ugly name." (Her shelter name is Risa, and she has a spot on her nose where she lost a bit of fur due to a non-serious skin condition.)
Now, as far as looks go, the woman I am talking about was, shall we say, not a head turner. She was probably about 40 years old, with no teeth, dark raccoon eyeliner, and greasy hair. And I know that I shouldn't have, but I found her comments about Risa amusing given the source.
On my way home, I was thinking about it, and was reminded of other times I was amused by people and their names. These are all people my mother knew, and I am 99% certain they are dead now, but if they are relatives or friends of yours, I apologize if you are offended.
My mother had three friends that she would do things with on a pretty regular basis in the years before she died. They were lovely women, willing to take her with them places and deal with her wheelchair like it was no big deal. My mother *always* called them their names in this order: Faye, and Kay, and Dot Mellott (prounounced like "a lot"). I found this amusing, but The Tim was particularly taken with it - telling my mother she was the only person he ever knew whose friends were "an internal rhyme." He even wrote a poem about them, and I can only remember the first part:
Faye, and Kay, and Dot Mellot went walking to the town.
Said Faye and Kay to Dot Mellot, "why don't we sit down?"
I don't remember the rest, but it was quite epic, and my mother found it hilarious. I have no idea if she ever mentioned it to Faye, and Kay, and Dot Mellot ...
Then there was the time when I was shopping with my mother - I think I was about twelve years old - and she ran into an old friend of hers from high school named Minnie Mumley. Now, we had all heard of Minnie Mumley, and found her name to be a source of great amusement. Meeting her was disappointing, because she didn't look to me like her name sounded. BUT even more amusing to both myself and my mother is that she said she had changed her name (at this point my mother was in her early sixties, so I guess Minnie was too?). My mother assumed she meant her last name, and asked her what she had changed her last name to, and she replied, "Oh I'm keeping Mumley - I changed my first name to Lillian." And the rest of the afternoon, my mother kept saying, "Well I don't get it - Lillian Mumley doesn't sound much better than Minnie Mumley." And my sisters and I thought this was quite amusing, to say the least.
The last thing I thought of were two elderly women who were in our parish and they were the types that were involved in everything, as well as being really nosy (in my mother's terms they were "nebshits). There names were Cynthia and Anna Bell, and they were regularly referred to by most people as "The Ding Dong Sisters" - of course, not to their faces. Well, one Sunday the priest was reading announcements for the coming week, and said something like, "On Tuesday evening, we will host _____. If you are interested, please contact Cynthia or Anna Bell." To which a very childlike voice piped up, "Mommy! He's talking about the Ding Dong Sisters!" and no one in my family can tell you anything else that happened afterwards because we had to leave (yes, we were all sadly too amused to recover). My father had gone to an earlier Mass, so when we came home a bit early, he wanted to know why, and my mother told him, and he said, "This is why you're all going to hell," which caused even greater laughter.
Anyway, I thought this might give you a chuckle. I love names, all kinds. I love knowing what people name their babies, I love it when you come across a name that is just PERFECT for a person, or when someone with an even more unusual name than yours comments on how "weird" your name is (this used to happen to me as a kid - there were no other Bridgets walking around then wherever I went to school).
(Then there is the co-worker I had once who had gone to elementary school with a boy named ... Sheldon Fartslinger. We agreed that we hoped he was a mulitmillionare by now, to make up for all the times he was beat up on the playground as a kid ... )