Morality, Doctors and Hot Chocolate

Well, I have escaped the “moral dilemma” with my scruples intact. So far.

To recap for those of you who missed the September 22nd episode of Palimpsest, The Diary, I was facing Wednesday with more than a little trepidation. Company meetings were scheduled that would unveil our big marketing plan, and there were believable rumors floating about that we would be required to sign something that had our new company motto on it. The problem was that I did not agree with the company motto, which claimed that we would put one particular quality first. My job is all about putting another quality first, and I wholeheartedly believe that my area of responsibility should come first.

In a not totally parallel analogy, assume I worked for a toy manufacturer. The manufacturer comes up with a logo that says, “With Biggie Toys, the Fun Comes First!” and then requires all their employees to sign off on that. Were I the person responsible for making sure that babies don’t choke on the toys, I’d probably have a small problem with signing off on the company motto. In my mind, Safety should come first. While safety admittedly does not sell as many toys as fun, I’d be loathe to sign anything that said I personally was making fun my priority.

So what happened Wednesday? The meetings happened as promised. The company slogan was officially revealed. And they told us that each department would have a poster of the new slogan that each employee in the department would sign. This, as I understand it, is to show the company-wide commitment to our slogan, which is supposed to be more than words. I’ll hand it to my employers – they really intend to deliver on their promise. And what they want to do is not a bad thing. It just isn’t my priority.

They’ll be handing out clear plastic labels that we are to put our signature on. The signed label will then be put on the poster. The way I’m figuring it, my signature is being applied to a clear piece of meaningless plastic. It’s not my fault if it somehow ends up affixed to something I don’t completely agree with. I didn’t sign the poster; I signed a clear piece of plastic.

Yeah, it’s a loophole of dubious honor, but it’s a loophole nonetheless. And right now, I’ll take that over the alternative of making waves.

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I have a doctor’s appointment with my regular doctor this afternoon. It will be the first time I’ve seen her since the transplant, and only the third or so time I’ve seen her since the diagnosis last summer. Somehow the Specialists managed to whisk me away to some medical hinterland from which I intend to escape.

Don’t misunderstand. I’m very lucky to have had all those specialists. During the pre-transplant phase of things, Dr. Liver was a font of reassurance and information. We developed a good rapport, and I felt that he was really up on my case and was a strong advocate for me. After the transplant, Big City Hospital was probably the best place I could be. They’ve got more experience in liver transplants than nearly anyone else in the country, and I suspect they are the reason I’m doing so well now. But when I go there for my check-ups, I never see the same person twice in succession. The doctors don’t know my case, and often I need to remind them of my history or tell them what meds I’m taking. I’ve been spoiled … I like the “personal touch” in medicine. So I’m off to see my family doctor, to find out how much of my routine care I get transferred back into her and Dr. Liver’s hands.

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We got a letter from the apartment management today. They’ve plans to refurbish the outside of some of the buildings. Ours is on the list to be done. They’ve plans to put siding up, do something with the gutters, repair/replace patios as needed, and other stuff I quite honestly didn’t understand. It’s nice we’re getting spruced up, but I fear for The Socialist’s sleep. These guys tend to start work early, and if they’re banging around outside the bedroom window, things could get ugly.

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There are two sets of transplant workshops being held within driving distance from me. The first is in Harrisburg on October 11th, and the second is just outside Philadelphia sometime in November. I think I’ll attend both of them, since it looks like there’s going to be quite a bit of useful information at them. It will also be a chance to meet with others who have had similar experiences to myself. I found a nice on-line support group for liver failure/transplant, but I’ve yet to meet anyone face-to-face who’s been through all this.

I had hoped The Socialist would attend with me, but in all fairness, it would make for a very early morning for him. My sisters, who originally said they’d be interested in going if The Socialist couldn’t make it, have also bailed on me. I sent an email off to Dr. Twenty Cats asking if she was interested, but I’ve not heard back yet. The clinic she practices at has Saturday hours, and this isn’t much notice, so she may not be able to get off, even if she is interested. I figure the odds are good that I’m going by myself.

The Socialist wanted to know why I wanted to go, when I already had my on-line support group and could easily get any questions I have answered at Big City Hospital. I’m not sure I can really explain why, except that I feel like I should have more questions. That, and I have a need to somehow connect with the local community of transplant activists who are trying to raise the level of awareness about organ donation in the public. I’m pretty excited about going. I don’t plan much, and therefore don’t have a lot to look forward to. Doing this means that there’s something other than doctor’s visits and hairdresser appointments on my social calendar. And that feels good.

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I’ve run out of tea in my office, and have been forced to make coffee. Since I’ve started work I’ve needed that daily fix of caffeine in the morning. Problem is, I really don’t like coffee. I can drink it with enough creamer and sugar in it, but there has to be enough so that the fact there’s any coffee in the mug is disguised.

I ran out of creamer the other day. This was a tragedy of near epic proportions. In desperation, I started casting around for replacements. It occurred to me that hot chocolate must have some sort of “creamer” in it, since all you do is add water. So I added a couple of spoonfuls of hot chocolate powder to the coffee. Eureka! Not only was it an adequate substitute, but also it’s damned good. No need for creamer, no need for sweetener … just add hot chocolate. It transforms coffee from something marginally drinkable to something that could easily surpass tea on my preference list.

I think I’ll have another cup before I head for my doctor’s appointment.