Sooner or later, we need a doctor. Maybe it’s a back ache, an accident or something’s not right. We want someone to hear and cure us.

Good luck.

The medical field has changed dramatically. When I was in the first grade, we lived in upstate New York. Most of the kids headed to the high school to sled down the school’s hill whenever there was a heavy snow.

I was one of those kids. Unfortunately, I came down fast one day and ran into a boy holding a sled. The sharp metal part of the sled caught me in the forehead. My mom took me to the town doctor’s home where he saw patients.

Dr. Cash was where we went to for colds, ailments and the chicken pox. That day, he stitched up my forehead and gave me a lollipop on the way out.

Those days are long gone. Today, you have to choose a primary care physician from a list of approved doctors. It doesn’t matter if you have someone you like, the doctor has to be in your network.

Don’t get too attached to that doctor. Insurance companies love changing who’s on their preferred list and who’s not.

Once you reach the age of 65, you’re on Medicare. In theory, Medicare is supposed to cover most, but not all, of the costs for approved health care services. After you meet the deductible, you pay your share.

The key words here are “supposed to cover most” and “approved.” If some bureaucrat doesn’t think you need the expensive heart medication, you’re out of luck unless you want to pay for it or your doctor fights for you.

Two years ago, I started having trouble with my legs. It hurt to walk, sleep and drive. I went to my primary care physician, and he recommended a vein doctor.

I paid over $350 for no relief and no answers. I did some research and found I should probably see an orthopedic doctor. I found a practice close to our home. The receptionist who booked my appointment recommended Dr. Jacob Worsham.

She said he was great.

She wasn’t wrong.

Dr. Worsham looked at my x-rays and diagnosed osteoarthritis, the most common form of arthritis among older adults. Dr. Jake, as he likes to be called, recommended an easy-to-follow, three-step process – cortisone shots, gel shots and then knee replacement.

I got the shots that day and they worked like magic. I resumed my life. A few months later, I could tell the effect was wearing off, and I went back for more shots. Worked like a charm as has the third round.

I bragged about Dr. Jake to my family. When my husband went in for a broken elbow, the hospital said they were sending in an orthopedic surgeon. Who should walk in but Dr. Jake.

Not only did he repair my husband’s elbow, but my husband has full range of motion and the scar is invisible.

Dr. Jake is leaving the Houston area to be closer to his elderly parents. What I wanted to say when he told me, but couldn’t because I was choked up, was thank you, Dr. Jake.

You listened to us.

You made us better.

You did so with confidence, a friendly and professional attitude and genuine caring.

Fabulous health care professionals are out there. They make the time to listen to their patients, really listen, and do their best to help their patients feel better and to hopefully find a cure that works.

Best of luck, Dr. Jake.

You gave me my life back, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

“You can’t train a good snake dog. They’re just born that way.”

These were the words of wisdom Bob Haenel gave me many years ago. I was telling the newsroom about our dog barking at a coiled-up snake in the yard.

Earlier she’d also cornered a big, black snake on our patio and had alerted me to a snake on the patio. Bob was right – Channell was a good snake dog, and she was born with that instinct.

It’s no secret I’m terrified of snakes. Big snakes, little snakes — anything that slithers. I don’t even like walking in front of the glass cages at the zoo where they keep snakes.

This past week, my brother and his wife went on vacation. They had a house sitter to take care of their two King Charles Cavalier dogs. They’re primarily lap dogs who want to be close to people.

Ella is an older dog, content to sleep most of the time, and Trixie is a young, always bouncing puppy.

I was going to Baton Rouge to stay with my mom while they were vacationing.

Jimmy and Peggy graciously offered me the use of their house while they were gone and the sitter said she’d come when I left. A win for everybody.

All they asked was for me to make sure the pups had food and water. There was a doggie door so Ella and Trixie could go in and out as needed, so they were pretty self-sufficient.

Easy, I thought. The dogs barked when I was came in, but by the second day, they knew I was a friend.

If I watched television, Trixie curled up next to me. Ella preferred the cool wood floor. They were quiet company, and we got along famously.

I was writing on my laptop about midnight when the dogs started barking furiously. They were by the door that leads out to the garage. I wondered what in the world would get them so riled up.

I got closer and saw they were barking at something on the floor. It was a snake. Not a big one but a snake is a snake is a snake.

I screamed.

They barked.

I screamed louder.

They barked louder.

I looked around for something, anything, to kill that snake. I knew I had to hurry up because snakes are fast even though Ella had that snake cornered.

There was no way I could sleep in the house knowing a snake was loose, just waiting to slither up the chair where I’d be sitting or, horrors, waiting for me on my pillow.

I remembered seeing a broom in the pantry. I ran to get it and the dogs stayed put, Ella keeping that snake right up against the wall while her younger sister barked and jumped around behind her.

I opened the door to the garage and got ready behind the dogs. I took the broom and tried to grab the snake with the bristles. It worked but the snake shook free and dropped to the floor.

I screamed.

Trixie barked.

Ella wasted no time. She grabbed that snake in her mouth and shook it furiously.

When she dropped it, I was ready and swept that dazed snake out the door and then slammed it shut. My heart was beating and the dogs were still barking. I reached down and petted those dogs, scratched their heads and told them how proud I was of them.

Then I found the bag of doggie treats and gave them half the bag.

Ella slept on the floor in front of the door for the next few hours while Trixie snuggled up next to me.

I told my brother that Ella has a warrior’s heart. So does her little sister Trixie and our matriarch, Channell.

Bob is right. You can’t train a snake dog.

But when you find one, that’s a treasure.

We have three. I’d say we hit the lottery.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.   

When you get past a certain age, there are truths you come to accept. Some truths are easier than others.

I remember riding my bike around the block where we lived. Out my grandparents’ driveway to Second Street and round the corner. In the middle of that street was a set of stone stairs. I’d stop there and pretend I was resting and looking around.

What I was really doing was stopping to let my “horse,” aka my bicycle, get a drink of water and cool down. Like so many kids, I wanted to be a cowboy. In my imagination, my bike was a part-time horse.

I got a little older and realized the bike was nothing more than steel and rubber wheels. The truth is, these days, I ride my bike because my knees won’t allow me to walk around the block.

I read “Black Beauty” when I was about 10 years old and thought I knew everything about horses.

The first time I rode a horse was right after I’d finished that book. The horse didn’t realize I’d read that book because he galloped, didn’t do what I wanted him to do and tried to bite me.

I hung on for dear life on that ride, thinking this wild horse was nothing like Black Beauty. Now, the only horse I’m interested in is can the horsepower in my car get me safely over the ramps on the interstate.

For many years, I considered myself somewhat organized. But one frustrating afternoon, after looking for my car keys for an hour, I ordered Marie Kondo’s organizing book.

I had to face a bitter truth. I was surrounded by clutter everywhere I looked – letters and cards, photographs and hundreds of books.

Kondo advised only keeping things that give you joy. So I assessed.

All those pictures make me happy because they remind me of good times and celebrations.

Many of the letters are from relatives and friends who are no longer here. Seeing their handwriting reminds me of them. That gives me joy.

The mementos are either gifts from my childhood or something I picked up while traveling.

All of them bring me joy.

But I did follow one key bit of advice from Ms. Kondo. The book “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” did not bring me joy so I donated it and instantly felt better.

Reading a book does not make one an expert on the subject in the book nor can the content in the book motivate me to do something I really don’t want to do.

It’s even worse when I watch a YouTube video.

Cleaners visit a hoarder’s house and, with the snap of their fingers, the house is clean.

I watch that and think I can clean out our garage in a couple of hours. I’ll watch another one and believe I can rearrange my kitchen pantry.

In the time I spent watching those videos, I could’ve cleaned the garage, the kitchen and washed a few loads of clothes.

In reality, there is no need to clean out our garage because my husband is already neat and organized.

These people would probably have me throw out his collection of screws, nuts and bolts he’s collected over 40 years. Truth be told, those odd screws have come in handy quite often.

I’m not going to move the washer and dryer to clean underneath them. I’ll clean that mess up when we move.

I’m not going to take everything out of the kitchen cabinets, install rolling shelves and re-season the cast-iron pots.

I’ll keep reading the books and watching the how-to videos. The best thing they accomplish is keeping me from doing the actual work.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

One dollar.

That’s all it took for our grandson to have a fabulous time on an errand that would normally be the last thing an 8-year-old boy would want to do – clothes shopping with his big sisters.

Jason was willing to go shopping with us because I told him he might see something he’d like to buy.

He said he’d been saving up money from doing a few jobs around his house. When we were ready to go, Jason held up a small Zip-lock bag and showed me his treasure trove.

He had seven dollars in change and folded up dollar bills in that small plastic bag. We left the house, everyone thinking about what they needed to get that afternoon.

We went in the first store where we waited patiently for the girls to try on a few T-shirts.

“Can I play on your phone while we wait?” Jason politely asked. Of course I handed it over. I knew waiting for sisters to try on clothes wasn’t where this active little boy wanted to be.

For a half hour, Jason sat on the floor, happily playing his game. He walked with us while we meandered along, never asking us to hurry up.

On the way to the mall’s main hallway, Jason spotted a group of massage recliners, the ones people sit on when they’re tired.

Jason, though, was ecstatic. He looked at the tag and saw he could get a massage for one dollar.

“I have money!” he said, pulling out the Zip-lock bag out of his pocket.

I thought it was a waste of money – a three-minute back massage for a dollar. I suggested he wait and see if there was something else he’d rather spend his money on.

He agreed, but I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

Jason looked in the toy store. Even though there were a few things he could buy, he insisted he was going to wait and get a massage before we left the mall.

“Are you sure you don’t want one of these small things near the cash register,” I asked in the toy store.

“No ma’am,” he said, smiling. “I’m gonna get that massage.”

We kept shopping and he was agreeable the whole time, happily waiting for his sisters while they browsed and tried on outfits.

We had lunch, and I forgot about the massage chair. We finished our pizza and stood up.

“Let’s head to the car,” I said. “I’m a little tired.”

The girls agreed, but not Jason. His disappointment was quite evident.

I looked at his face, those big brown eyes so trusting, the very top of the Zip-lock bag peeking out of his pants pocket. He’d been so patient, waiting for his turn, not once complaining.

That’s when I decided – there was no way we were leaving without him getting a massage. We went back the way we came in. When Jason spotted the massage chairs, he ran over and sat in every one.

“I want to be sure I get the most comfortable chair,” he said.

When he found the one he wanted, he carefully took a crumpled dollar bill out of the bag, smoothed it out and slid it into the money slot.

The chair started to vibrate and he laughed and laughed with pure joy.

That afternoon, the girls and I bought clothes.

Jason, however, bought something much more valuable, my husband said.

He bought a joyful experience.

For one crumpled and well-spent dollar.

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Teachers are already busy decorating bulletin boards, creating seating charts and making reading nooks comfy.

They’re making sure each child has a place in the classroom, from personalized placemats to name tags over backpack hooks.

Parents are likewise getting their children ready for school. Haircuts and dental appointments are scheduled, new shoes are in the closet, and pens, pencils and notebooks are in new backpacks.

This coming year, children will learn to read and how to find and check out a book from the library. They’ll memorize their student identification number so they can get their lunch all by themselves in the cafeteria.

Parents and teachers will worry, children will hope they can snag a swing at recess and teens will wonder if they’ll have friends to help them through the coming year.

The most important education, however, comes from what we don’t prepare for –life lessons. Over the course of the coming year, teachers will be called upon to teach lessons that weren’t covered in college.

They’ll have to handle kindergarteners and first graders who miss their parents so much, they can’t stop crying. Teachers will learn to console those children but also build their confidence so they can face the day by themselves.

Middle school teachers coax confidence from a shy sixth grader who’s being bullied or ignored by the other pre-teens. These teachers will have to react quickly to youngsters who are changing from little kids to pre-teens. Those mood swings are real, as any one of them will tell you.

High school teachers are handling young adults. They know how to make their own meals and be the one in charge.

Many hold down part- or full-time jobs in addition to going to school full time. They’ve learned how to balance adult responsibilities on young, still forming shoulders.

Teachers learn to accept the circumstances their students endure but still push them to learn geometry, chemistry, trigonometry and history.

More importantly, teachers have to convince a child living in poverty that an education is a ticket out of the situation.

They teach children growing up in wealth that they have to rely on themselves to make it in life. Not their parents’ money or influence – the one person they can rely on lives in their skin.

Coaches have a daunting job. They have to be tough on their athletes, to push them to achieve both mentally and physically.

They teach boys and girls to be part of a team. In a society that’s focused on the individual, to become part of a team and give up the spotlight for the greater good is a delicate skill.

Administrators must look beyond the pretty bulletin boards and color-coordinated cubbies to how well the teacher connects with the kids in his or her class.

Let’s hope the principal remembers the teachers on staff are people who struggle with often insurmountable problems they did not create. The same goes for the kids in the classroom. Most are doing the best they can.

Do teachers discipline and correct yet smile and love? Parents understand how difficult this is as a mom or dad but they often forget how difficult this balancing act can be in a classroom.

This year, let’s look for academic and athletic achievements but, most of all, growth in each child’s and each adult’s belief in themselves.  At the end of the year, they can all be more than they believed they could be on that first school day in August.

Above all, let us pray for grace and gratitude in the classroom for everyone.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.