Tag: receptionist

That Damned Tooth

I was only able to get 3-4 hours of sleep through Friday morning. I woke up in lots of pain. What ever was going on in my tooth was getting worse and it wanted me to know it.

I had taken codeine twice in the preceding 9 hours, so along with the pain I was woozy – unable to muster all my thought processes at the same time. I was a mess. I was shuffling, not walking, not lifting my feet very far off the carpet.

Iris, the receptionist (retiring today) picked up the phone at the periodontist’s office. She could get me in at 11:15. I thought to myself how I didn’t want to wait three hours, but knew I’d have to.

I got back into bed and closed my eyes.

This was a different kind of pain than a headache or bruise. It was an all encompassing pain. Yes, it emanated from my tooth and gum but it was more powerful than anything else I had going. I was in no position to reason. All I could think about was the pain – and that it was still there.

It wasn’t long before Helaine was in the bedroom. Iris had called back. Could I get there now?

I don’t remember much about the trip there but I do remember the periodontist telling me it didn’t look good. I haven’t gone to dental school, but I knew that already.

We talked about the tooth, the prospect of root canal and crown and then it would probably only be useful for a few years before it had to come out anyway. The second option was extraction – and that’s what he did&#185.

By the time I got home, the shots were wearing off and the pain was ramping up again. I took another codeine laced Tylenol and headed to bed. By later this afternoon the pain had mostly subsided, except my gum feels swollen and hurts if touched. That’s probably from the injections.

Over this weekend, I should start to feel as I did before this episode. The gum will come down and, hopefully, I’ll get this cream cheesy feeling out of my head.

When I was a kid, codeine was sold over-the-counter with a prescription. What were they thinking?

Right now my thought process is somewhat akin to thinking through gauze.

&#185 – The tooth itself is in my shirt pocket as I type this entry.

Judgemental for Christmas

My friend Josh Mamis, who publishes the New Haven Advocate, asked me to come to their offices and judge Christmas decorations. Is there a job I am less qualified for?

I said yes.

The Advocate is a weekly tabloid devoted to local arts and entertainment. It is often the best place for ‘bite the hand that feeds me’ expository journalism on local politics and business. I always enjoy reading their longer feature stories.

In the past, the Advocate had been very unkind to my station in a story that I felt was vindictive and a maybe little heavy handed (though they were always nice to me…. even in that article).

Though once locally owned, it recently become part of Times-Mirror which also owns the Hartford Courant and Channel 61.

Josh knows I have a soft spot in my heart for print in general and the Advocate specifically. Though TV has more impact and is much more immediate, the written word has an elegance and permanence that TV can’t touch. That’s probably why I enjoy writing this blog.

I drove into Downtown New Haven and parked under the Omni Hotel. Though cold, today was a beautiful day with high thin cirrus clouds adding some texture to an otherwise blue sky.

It is only in the past few years that New Haven has had a first class hotel downtown. I popped up to street level through the hotel’s lobby and walked around the block to the Advocate’s offices. They are located on the 11th floor of a building over what was the Chapel Square Mall. The building had fallen into disrepair, but looked very good today. Obviously, someone has spent the money to try and turn it around.

The mall is long gone – a failure through a few incarnations. I was surprised to hear it had been converted to upscale apartments. What was the actual mall is now an enclosed courtyard with an open air roof and apartment entrances. Upscale apartments going into Downtown New Haven (and now a 4-screen artsy movie theater down the block) is another very good sign for the city.

Josh’s office is near the receptionist and has a killer view of the Green and then north to East Rock&#185. Very impressive… especially so with today’s weather.

We schmoozed for a few minutes and then it was on to the judging. To my eye, Christmas lights around Connecticut seem to less visible this year. The Advocate’s office maintained that trend. There really wasn’t a lot of cubicle decorating, though I did pick a winner.

The winning cubicle featured a very scrawny little artificial tree but lots of other little homemade Christmasy type accoutrements. It was enough to show real holiday spirit. That won me over.

As I walked around the office, saying hi to people and chatting, I noticed someone working on a page from the paper featuring a photo of a group of people. They were from a store called “Group W Bench.”

I smiled… actually chuckled at that name. No one else did. The name “Group W Bench” only meant something to me. My age was showing again.

“The Group W Bench” was made famous in the late 60s by Arlo Guthrie in his song “Alice’s Restaurant.” For 18 minutes Arlo told and sang the story of his arrest for illegal dumping… in the town dump… on a legal holiday… and led to his day at the local draft board.

And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten

color glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on

the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, “Kid, I want

you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W …. NOW kid!!”

And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W’s

where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after

committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly

looking people on the bench there.

Hey, it was the late 60s! Times were different and this story of a song became huge.

I left the Advocate a little disappointed – not because they didn’t know Arlo, but because there weren’t more decorations to be seen. But I also left feeling a little better (and this is a continuing, incremental process) about New Haven.

&#185 – At the end of the last ice age, as the ice retreated, huge chunks of rock that had been pushed forward by the glaciation remained in place. East Rock is one of these steep, sharp rock mountains. It overlooks New Haven Harbor and is a few miles from downtown.

Seventeen Years Ago Today

Steffie was born 17 years ago today. I remember Helaine telling me to come right home after the newscast. She knew the time was right.

Earlier in the day Helaine had gotten out of the house as the exterminator did his thing. She stooped in our tiny front yard in Branford, planting impatiens. I couldn’t figure out how she was doing it. I still can’t

Now, with me home, she was getting ready to call the obstetrician. He listened to her signs and told her, “not yet.” We turned on the TV.

I’m not sure if every program on “Nick at Nite” that night was the Mary Tyler Moore Show, but it seemed that way. We sat and watched and wondered. Even if Helaine would have seen a foot sticking out of her, she wouldn’t have called the doctor back. Luckily, she didn’t have to.

Somewhere in the middle of the night the phone rang. It was the doctor. Go to the hospital – they’ll be waiting.

Helaine was having moderately intense contractions by this time (who am I to say they’re moderate – let’s face it, if guys had contractions, we’d just pass out on the spot). Branford was deserted, as was I-95 and Route 34. I ran the only red light I hit… not because we had to, but because my wife was having a baby. It was my right to do as I wished on the road.

I’m not going to go into details about what happened when we got to the hospital. That’s not because it was gory or bad, but because Helaine has worked it into a stand-up comedy routine worthy of 6 minutes on Letterman. Least it to say, Helaine feels the receptionist was more interested in my celebrity than her pregnancy.

Labor was not easy for Helaine. I believe Steffie was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil in there – twisting and turning and getting caught up in her own umbilical cord. It was very scary as doctors and nurses scurried around and prepared Helaine for the emergency C-section they never had to perform.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon that Steffie thought enough was enough, and out she came. She was, and still is beautiful. She was, and still is our baby. This, of course, is a bone of contention between father and daughter.

I know it’s difficult for her to understand, at age 17 when it seems she should be a grown-up, but we can still close our eyes and see her wrapped up tight with the little stocking hat (which we still have). I can feel her in my arms as the nurse handed her to me and our feelings of joy and relief that she had ten fingers, ten toes and all the standard equipment.

The photo, the one with me holding Steffie just a few minutes after her birth, is one of my proudest possessions. Of course Helaine did all the hard work, but I get some credit too.

So today is Steffie’s day. I just hope she’ll take a cue from the Oscars and Emmys and thank the people behind the scenes who made it all possible.

Fractured Fairy Tales

Before Stefanie was born, Helaine and I had a long running joke. If our child turned out to have any athletic acumen, there should be an investigation.

Let the investigation begin!

Steffie’s school requires students to play sports – period. Nearly everyone, two of the three semesters a year, plays some sort of team sport. Steffie has played basketball, lacrosse and field hockey.

She’s actually been playing basketball since she was in grade school. This can probably be attributed to the very popular University of Connecticut’s women’s basketball team, which is a perennial powerhouse.

Over the past few years, Steffie has gravitated more and more to field hockey and there’s no doubt it’s her favorite sport.

Forget what you’ve heard about women being demure. These girls mix it up. Field hockey is by no means a gentle game under any circumstances. Wooden stick in hand, playing over sometimes rough fields, the ball is hard and travels fast. Shin guards are worn, but that’s about it for padding (except the goalie who wears an unbelievable amount of foam and plastic).

Steffie is very good at this game… and fearless. Playing a defensive position, she knows letting a ball get past her can easily become a goal by the other team.

Today, playing at home, her team dismantled a team from Stamford. With two quick goals in the first few minutes, they never looked back. Steffie played hard and with great skill.

She was fast and relentless, digging out the ball and changing it’s direction. Her position calls for a ball stealer, not a pass catcher. She’s perfect.

Defense is not a glory position. When played properly you don’t hear about those playing it. When played poorly, you’re counting losses.

All went well until there were about 10 minutes to go. In the middle of the action, another player swiped for the ball and caught Steffie’s right hand, middle finger. Most hits wouldn’t have caused a problem, but Steffie’s own stick stopped the motion and concentrated the force into her finger.

She was in pain.

It wasn’t long before Steffie was on the sidelines being attended to by Ethan Victor, who was assisting the trainer. The finger and hand were swelling.

It seemed like the right thing to do to go to the hospital, so Steffie and I drove to Yale/New Haven Children’s Hospital’s Pediatric Emergency Room. When the receptionist was taking down Steffie’s information and asked where she was born, I got to say, “upstairs.” Steffie was born at Yale, like George W. Bush (though he is less likely to admit to any Connecticut connection).

Ethan the trainer, was now Ethan the emergency room trauma specialist! That was a good thing because he helped speed along what would have been a slow and tedious process. The emergency room was jammed. It was “Sports Injury Saturday” with soccer, bicycle and paintball related injuries around us, and more that I don’t know about.

After seeing a few doctors and nurses and getting an X-Ray, we were told Steffie had fractured the tiny bone at the tip of her finger. More than likely, it would be just fine. But, Steffie would have to wear a splint for a while. And, field hockey would be out for two weeks… OK, maybe a week if her pediatrician said it was OK.

We drove home. Steffie was still in pain, but I think there’s a certain satisfying comfort in really knowing what’s wrong with you.

Though she always shies away from pictures and complains I take too many, Steffie agreed to ‘pose’ for this shot to archive the occasion (and possibly email to friends – I never quite understand what she’ll do). She will wear the splint with pride. Her team won.