I guess I understand to some degree. I hate to be pushed around as well. Nothing makes my hackles rise as much as someone lording their authority over me unnecessarily. Eventually she’ll realize that being asked to pick up her sweater (asked nicely, I might add) doesn’t really require 45 minutes of high energy protestations–save that energy for more important battles.
Jeremiah was gracious enough to pronounce that she’s just like me.
It’s a quintessentially New Zealand scene; cattle munching grass, next to a new world-class greenhouse (behind), in the city of Christchurch, second largest city in the country.
I don’t know if those calves were staring longingly at the relative shelter of the greenhouse or at the tasty plants inside, but they stood there watching us all morning. They’re the owner’s “cattle beasts,” because if you own grass, then why would you not own sheep or cows to eat the grass? Exactly. So they do. (Clearly, cow pies on the lawn aren’t a problem if you’re wearing your gum boots.)
It doesn’t get much better than spinning in a pink and purple frilly skirt worn over top a pink dress. If you’re a three year old girl, that is.
I sent a girls-in-daffodils picture to Jeremiah, and he suggested that we meet him for lunch in a cafe in town. Naomi found the walk very long. Towards the end we passed a bunch of flash new buildings with glass facades, and she stopped to admire her reflection, adjusting her skirt, preening here and there. “Oh, I didn’t know we had fairies in the city!” and old woman exclaimed as she walked past. Naomi beamed–that was clearly the effect she was after.
When we were expecting Naomi I thought to myself “Good. I’ve had one baby in the USA, now I’ll try the prenatal care and birthing system in New Zealand.” I was pleasantly surprised how well the NZ midwifery system worked. I felt that if I had run into complications that care would have been efficiently referred to an obstetrician, but the midwives I worked with were professional, skilled, and personable. And the post-baby support beat the US system all hollow. I’m a NZ birthing system convert.
I recently got to test the general medical system in NZ out….not that I have much personal experience with major medical problems in the US, so probably not a fair trial. This test was a bit more rocky than the baby test.
April 2016 I started a problem that was eventually diagnosed as disc between two vertebrae bulging out and pressing on nerves, causing leg pain. It sounds so simple in that description, but living with the problem was misery for months last winter, and I wallowed around in the NZ medical system waiting for one appointment or another… 4 months before getting an MRI (and therefore a correct diagnosis) and 9 months before getting approval (funding approval) for a surgery to correct it. I’ll spare you the details of the wallowing. I might do better the second time around, but probably not. Basically the problem wasn’t an emergency (not life threatening), so rather than your first port-of-call doctor (a general practitioner in this case….well, after physiotherapists couldn’t do any more) ordering an expensive MRI scan, they order an appointment for you to see a specialist…and 6 weeks later when your appointment comes, they order and MRI for 4 weeks later….then wait again for a follow-up appointment. You get the picture. Health care is slow because it is rationed. Economics is considered. Unlike in America.
But in January when the approval for a surgery finally came through, I was actually feeling better. Gradually, ever so incrementally, my back had improved to the point where I could mountain bike, and after that it got better on its own, slowly but steadily. By late summer I was back to standing straight, not to mention back to hiking and rollerblading and all the stuff I love, and feeling that perhaps the slow-and-economical health care system was ok after all. It’s financially sustainable at least, unlike the American system.
BUT THEN, that disc bulged again. I don’t know why. I didn’t DO anything. But all of a sudden I was right back to where I was a year ago, limping around, not sleeping well, unable to do anything fun. The only difference was this time I took more pain killers, because we were booked for our big trip back to the States and I just had to cope. And this time, I already had all the contacts in place.
While in the States I was able to organize a new MRI appointment for the day after we got home, and an appointment with the surgeon two days later. The funding approval was still valid from January. He didn’t really have space in his surgery list for me, but he said it was a quick job and he’d squeeze me in the next week. I felt like you do when you’re 40-weeks pregnant, when even the process of childbirth sounds better than the prospect of staying pregnant. Cut open my back and take out that lump of the disc? Yes please, that sounds great!
I don’t have many photos to share of that process. I suppose I should have taken a picture of the knitting I was working on for hours before it was my turn for surgery, looking forward to the relief of the anesthesia. Or the cheerful OR nurse with the bright blue eye shadow who said she had had the same problem (“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” she commiserated.) No picture can show the relief of waking up and having the squirmy-can’-t-sit-still leg pain gone. Just gone.
That was a week ago, and I’m back at work now. (Not back to vacuuming yet….thanks Jeremiah.) Moving a little slowly, but feeling tremendously much better. The surgeon says there’s a 95% chance that that will be the end of the saga. A few cases re-occur, but if it does, I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. In six weeks from now I should be able to get back up into the mountains to backpack, maybe in time to catch the end of the snowy season.
I guess the NZ medical system did work for me this time….eventually.