Headline: Pandemic Leads to Hypochondriacal Drama

So yesterday my day started with this email:
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From: (deep south relative whose identify I'm protecting)
To: Misty
Subject: Swin Flu

Hey are you feeling any flu stuff? How are things in Mexico?

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At first, I was puzzled. Mexico. How the hell would I know how things are in Mexico?

Then I was optimistic. I bet she's extrapolating! She knows I work in a hospital, and knowledgeable about events in some places in the world. She much think, then, that I would know how things are in Mexico.

Eventully, I was sadly resigned. This relative, who doesn't read because it's boring and hasn't left her state in about 40 years except for brief, safe vacations around other like-minded people who believe that knowledge is a Tool of the Devil.

AND who just mailed me a check. To my address. IN NEW MEXICO for the NAMI walk.

She, does, indeed. Think that I live. in Mexico.

I puzzled over my response. How to you take advantage of a teachable moment without being condescending?

As far as I know, there have been no reported cases in the entire state of New Mexico. I'm not sure about Mexico, as those cases are very far away.

Her response: How far away?

Me: About 1000 miles. Actually, geographically speaking, they are closer to you, so keep your eyes peeled.

I have received no response yet.

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No long after, I got the first of a series of emails from the hospital administration, that came about every 30 minutes, providing updates on how important it is to wash your hands and is it just me that is disturbed the administrator thinks that hospital personnel need to be reminded several times daily about hand-washing?

Then I got this text on my cell phone:

SON: DON'T FEEL WELL. THROAT SORE. COUGH. TIRED.

ME: U DO NOT HAVE SWINE FLU. GO 2 SCHOOL.

SON: STAGE 5. I'M SCARED.

My youngest son, 18, never admits fear unless he's trying to get something. I'm positive he's been counseled other teenagers, something like that: Dude. Just tell your mom you're scared! I swear to God, they'll give you anything if you do the little boy thing. Go for it!

ME: TOTAL B*S*. GO TO SCHOOL, ALMOST HOMELESS MAN.

Later on, I did pay him a visit. He's doesn't even have a fever. He does, however, have another unexcused absense. Please, oh please, just let him graduate.

Later on, a voice mail from my daughter. I love her, but she is a bit dramatic. Therefore, her ring tone, by design, is very hard to hear. I frequently miss her calls. (Email me if you want to know how to do this.)

Hi, Mom! No, I'm okay, I just wanted you to know that {cough} that I've been sick for about 10 days now {cough} [personal note: she was not sick 3 days ago] and nothing has worked, so, I'm going to go to the clinic to get tested to make sure I don't have swine flu. I just wanted to call you so you wouldn't worry. Okay, bye! I love you mom!

All this was delivered in a loud, clear, energetic, very happy voice. I also got an email very soon after, saying the exact same thing, along with a very long poem she wrote about love. Reasonable people know that calling and saying I wanted you to know I'm going to the hospital so you wouldn't worry is some sort of linguistic oxymoron. I'm not sure what to call it, speech-wise. In behavioral health, we call it "bomb-dropping."

But my girl is all about drama, and an epidemic is a drama-queen's very best friend. She always, at any given time, is convinced that she has every single disease or condition currently reported in the media. She has a couple of real problems; she is about 100% overweight, is pre-diabetic, and has 20/400 vision in one eye.

But she won't exercise. or stop eating so much candy. Or wear her glasses.

But anyway. Late yesterday, my oldest child, a 25-year-old son in the US Army, wrote me an email:

I think I'm lactose intolerant.

I'm not sure how I got such hypochondriac children who tell me this stuff but don't have time to do to the doctor. I have always modeled the whole, quit complaining, suck it up, put your head down and do it thing. Where, oh where, does this come from?

Okay, I have to quit now. I feel a sick headache coming on.

...

It's nice to be wanted.

Item number 1: This is not me. I never thought I'd see someone with the same name as me.

Item #2: Today I turned in my letter of resignation. I got lots of hugs and exortations to keep in touch. A couple ignored me. I ignored them, too.

Item #3: I'm starting a new job at a not-for-profit community counseling center I've written about before. It is a a colorful place full of colorful characters, downtown, and it's two blocks from a branch of my gym, a couple blocks from one of the main bike paths that goes through town, and near the light rail station. It's very low budget. Frequently there are not enough rooms to counsel a client, so we go for a walk, or get coffee, or sit in the park. You get paid when clients show up, and then you don't get paid a lot, and it is run by Dr. Ken.

Item #4: Introducing: Dr. Ken , my new boss.
Dr. Ken is an enigma. At first glance he is an old hippie, with his white ponytail, but is deceptively sharp given his penchant for pretending to be a doddering old guy. He's the clinical director and a professor at the school where I got my counseling degree. He's worked in mental health for over 30 years, has a PhD in counseling psychology and an MSW, and he knows a lot of stuff and has a lot of great stories. I did my internship at the center he directs.

Dr. Ken has white (formerly red) hair and light blue eyes. He is of Jewish ancestry and yet, somehow, also descended from Baptist Indian missionairies. As a result, he is third generation born and raised on the Laguna Pueblo Indian Reservation, and is a full member of the Laguna tribe and speaks fluent Laguna.
Then there's this: the counseling center is run by a Greek Orthodox church, where Dr. Ken is some sort of priest or something. So, every once in a while he and a bunch of the other guys that work at the center stop by on their way to services, and so they're four guys in a small white car wearing large black pointy hats. It always brings to mind the Elbonians, and yes, I've shared this with Dr. Ken.

Dr. Ken tells great stories. He also enjoys lying about me for some reason I cannot fathom. He'll introduce me to someone who's never met me, with a perfectly straight face, and say something like,
"When I first met Miss Misty she was pole-dancing at a place on Central, and had just been arrested for punching a cop. She's come a long way."

Which leaves it to me to shake my head at the astonished stranger:
"He's lying. I'm from the suburbs. And I've never even been to jail."

So Dr. Ken was on my thesis committee, and after I presented my thesis, he wanted to know when I was coming to work for him. This was perhaps the ninth or tenth time he's asked that. And I always used to laugh and say, "you can't afford me."

but this time, well,

this time.

I took a deep breath, and I said, "Wednesday, May 21st,"

and he was delighted. Delighted.

So, welcome to my new life. Teacher Misty: exit, stage left. Enter: Counselor Misty.

...

You must have holes in your head.

Friday at work I got to say something that I have never said before. Did you ever have one of those moments? You say something, and then you think to yourself, Hey, I bet nobody has ever said that before.

It happened like this: Carlos (not his real name) came up to me and asked me if I had any jumbo-sized paperclips he could have.

Normally, this is not an issue. I am a teacher. Carlos is a student. There are papers. Hence, paperclips.

However, Carlos has a 17% and an announced intention not to do any work and just chill until he can get his GED. He also likes to fling and shoot things. So I asked, trying not to sound too suspicious, What for?

"To put through my lip. This is irritating it." He gestured to what appeared to be a small zip tie he had somehow threaded through his lip piercing.

Carlos, you need to disinfect that. Paper clips aren't hygenic. You need something make from stainless steel. It's not a good idea.

He thought about that for a moment. Then,

"So you're not going to give me a paperclip?"

The ASL interpreter coughed to cover her laughter.

And that's when I said the sentence that I bet nobody else has said. And here it is:

"No Carlos, I will not give you a jumbo-sized paperclip to stick through the hole in your lip."

Now, earlier in the week a couple of kids were comparing gauges - in case you don't know, there is a whole speciality of products designed for making you look like a member of African tribe. There are, for instance, special tapers for gradually making the holes in your ears bigger, because when it comes to holes in your head perhaps size does matter, and as you may have seen at the local coffee house or grocery store, you can also buy little plates that snap across the large plastic holes in the ears. Perhaps that's to stop the whistling noise, I don't know.

I try not to make too many judgements about people who do this sort of thing even though, quite honestly, I think it looks stupid and the thought creeps unbidden into my brain that, perhaps, the wearer might be, too.

So Carlos and one of his buddies were daring each other to extend their gauging, and eventually approached me and asked if they could go to the nurse's office because, oddly enough, their earlobes hurt.

Let me get this straight: you've spent this class period trying to stretch even bigger holes in your head instead of working, and now you want me to send you to the nurse?

"Yeah, that's right."

I pondered for a moment and realized that legally and ethically, I had to send them, and so I wrote this pass out:

• THESE TWO IDIOTS PUNCHED HOLES IN THEIR EARS AND NOW THEY NEED SOME ICE FOR IT. 1:45 PM, ROOM 29, MP.

I heard that after the nurses finished laughing, they put the pass up on the bulletin board for display.

...