Healing Network

healing network

On their second play date, OREO a black obese recent rescue trashed the house. Plowed right through the screen door. Making it a flap. Trampled the rugs and wood floors. I had filled up a small pool outside and left the front door open so the dogs wouldn’t stray beyond the chicken wire fence. Meeschoo was so pumped, she ran laps as fast as she could.  

Oreo itched.  I had treated him on the sly less than a month ago on his last play date so I knew it wasn’t fleas but I checked anyway with a comb, fanning his fur back and forth. He would almost buckle itching on one hind leg. Then I noticed that Meeschoo was getting really really itchy and so was I. 

When John was here, he would remind me that dogs itch. It would help me pardon the thought, she’s probably just nervous, and finds some release in the gnawing on herself. It got worse at night, the licking and itching for both of us. I checked us for lesions and scrubbed. Googled pustules. Found no evidence of bed bugs or crop circles. We’ve both been bathed in hydrogen peroxide, tea tree, and aloe vera. The comforter too is boiling in over 100 degree temperatures, on its second cycle. All of the linens and clothes in the closet have been piled up and moved out. The carpet vacuumed with the stand up and hand models. Still our scalps itch. I have a headache. 

Something is wrong with my throat. I called 2 vets and made an appointment for tomorrow. One of the vets had a secretary who stated emphatically they would only treat the dog. I said, I KNOW THAT. She said mites were impossible on Meeschoo with NEXguard chewables. I had gently dug around in Meeschoo’s ear with a q-tip and found nothing mite like. I called Kevin, Oreo’s owner very late, and left a message telling him he might have scabies or mange. When I woke up I remembered, the way an 8 ball answer rises from the murky depths. That I had contracted this “issue” years ago and now with stress it came back, a calling. I have to cancel the vet appointment. Figure out what to tell Kevin.


Beep Beep


This morning I woke the neighbors again. Yesterday too – Meeshoo abandoned me after a lengthy discussion of boundaries, admonitions guidelines. I left the door open and within minutes while doing my fetal meditation, I realized she had gone to the other side, to the forbidden land. I called out in my most piercing guttural plead that no animal would ever respond to. Making sure I was projecting to all of the neighbors to keep FAITH that I would not let Meeshco wander beyond her confines.

This morning I added the chickens, to my alarm, watching in the dark, the Rock & Roll Hall of fame. Bryan Ferry announced Chris Spedding on guitar. It was an involuntary yelp.  I used to listen to his records over and over. This one song. “I’m a a Roadrunner, baby.”
Can someone explain these line ups? Closing the show with Lynard Skinher. What is the draw, straws? Further questions did Harry Stiles really SHTUP Stevie Nicks? Or was this just a trick for the old bags to imagine they might have a chance? What about Radiohead without a head? I had hoped Mark Knopfler might present. I wanted him to sing DOWN TO THE WATERLINE.
When I put Meeschoo out on the lanai she started chewing the deck. Made a hole a mouse could fall through. It didn’t matter that she had five world class bones right there. Or exercise. So I gave her fresh water and piece of wood.
It’s another morning and I already feel self hate.



HATCH-WAXMAN ACT, generics, the opioid crisis and your insurance company pushing their agenda, not healthcare


GENERIC drug laws and insurance companies antagonize the opioid epidemic, while charging you more every month, they are messing with your medication and the ingredients as well. Have you noticed that every time you go to pick up at the pharmacy that prices are higher? There is a conspiracy and collusion among generic drug makers to keep drug prices on the rise. Lawmakers are more focused on Hatch-Waxman as it applies to patent law. 
One Floridian who prefers to remain anonymous tells of being comfortably on the lowest dose of 5mg pain medication for 2 years. He was able to work and exercise and live a healthy productive life. Without his pain medication he could not even sit upright for more than 15 minutes so when he was given an alternate generic that was not equivlent, he found himself in excruciating pain. He blamed his memory that first morning and took a second pill. Discussion with his pharmacist was futile. Pharmacies don’t buy individual drugs from individual manufacturers. They buy in bulk from dealers, middle men, and cheaper inferior drugs and quantity deals are the rule when placing a monthly order. The old generic 5mg was no longer available. ANON was assured all generics are exactly the same anyway. It was his tolerance that was the issue. When he searched the internet to see if this was true he found he was not alone and that his pharmacist was wrong about generics and feeding him hogwash. He wanted to take the smallest amount of medicine possible but was now forced to take the 10mg dose to cover his pain. This presented other unforeseen side effects. When he went looking for a new internist because his doctor had retired, he was rejected based on a new prescription monitoring program in Florida. His prospective general practitioner rejected even doing a routine check-up on him pointing to a Florida website that had graded him based on his prescriptions. That number had spiked the doctors showed him a website that noted what he thought was private information. Called E-FORSCE? He tried explaining that his pain specialist had written the prescriptions for the same medication every month. They had tried to get the more expensive brand name medication, but the problem became not just availability, but his insurance company. Insurance would not pay unless it was a generic and no matter what they would never cover 10mg pills but they would pay for 20mg dosages.



What you need to know about generic drugs that most pharmacists don’t know is that generic drugs are not bio-identical. One major reason is because they are reverse engineered. Pharmaceuticals don’t simply give up their secret patents. In fact when generic companies want to test their products that include different fillers and compounds, they many times have had to sue to get the original. These tests are necessary for equivalency and most importantly blood absorption. The recipe really makes a difference. You need to know this because each time your pharmacist gives you a different generic, you are getting a drug that varies with at least 15 percent of the active ingredient. But because of the other ingredients involved that number goes up to 20 percent if not higher. This is very important for example if you are on seizure medication and it’s working, then suddenly it’s not because your pharmacist gave you a different generic. Or if you take pain medication and suddenly it’s not working. Ask your pharmacist not to change your generic medication if it’s working for you.

little ball

little ball

SNOWBALL is not pleasurable or chummy doing the rounds of neighborhood garbage, eating a chucked avocado. I tried the popping beer trick to tempt her with a proper tin of cat food but she had no interest in doing business. She conceded to eat my food gradually and only when I disappeared. There was a brother and sister looking nothing like Snowball all white with cow patches of black and grey. You would never chose her from the pound. She would be destroyed if they caught her. I dizzied trying to lure her with my lion taming cat teaser toy. Her brethren were soon addicted to good chow and the chase for feathers, a roller coaster of twirling in the garden. So exhausted they would keel over and pant, closer, until they just had to be close and fall on top of me. That person who reproduced the flight of birds and made food you didn’t have to kill. But not SNOWBALL. Her sister with the knob tail died because I taught her to trust people and their cocktails. When the poisoner next door lured her with a sweet mead of antifreeze and a cooing vocal SNOWBALL didn’t respond but her darling sister and brother did. SNOWBALL has coexisted with me for 13 years now and we still don’t touch. I won’t tell you how they found her brother. It’s too grisly _ in the middle of the street where he never went_ running to get away from the pain in his stomach. Flattened he had to be peeled away. It’s why Snowball and I are alive and my mother isn’t. It’s our absolute dedication to being soloists and playing keep away. 

How to clean your room?


Piles on top of piles was mother’s method. On top of her bureau, stacks of magazines and mail and on top of that a styrofoam head with a silver pin to hold the nylon fall. Piles on the floor, piles of folders on the bed. She was a saver, no matter how useless the receipt or notation. Even her bed was too busy to sleep with so much MISC. Without room you couldn’t reside or rest your eye. A blue bedspread, a white set of drawers. Her blue period. Hence confusing when she charged my cleaning efforts. She claimed I made a bigger mess. I was ahead of my time pre-dating the great philosopher Marie Kondo’s method. Taking every single item to the center of the floor and each piece was cleansed and dusted. In return each item was reestablished into a new order. Nothing had a permanent home. With clothes, I experimented, folding length wise, rolls, squared, squashed. Different drawers for different drawers. It wasn’t expedient but sometimes my room was as beautiful as it could be given my constraints. If you’ve witnessed Marie Kondo with her daughter on television, you just know her daughter will go on to accomplish all of her dreams. With the teachings and all that clutter out of the way.



I left the doggie park to retrieve a poop bag. The closest dispenser was empty and with my ankle on the limp and wincing, I wasn’t about to attempt the next kiosk without assured success. Anyway, I had learned a new location technique from one of the other park people. The secret is to pinpoint coordinates. Because in the past when I would return with my bag I could never find the shit. This time I made mental notes chis-crossing the blow up pool, an upside downed plastic chair, the silver trumpet tree, the crepe myrtle. I had a huge stash in my car from when it rained last week. I fashioned an Alexander McQueen ensemble plastic raincoat, stole, and scarf. Which then had to be unknotted. That dear Meeschoo, I question her love everyday. I’m not her type. She prefers dogs. Yesterday I made a special attempt at Costco buying her an entire rack of San Antonio style ribs. The 50 dollar antlers never get finished and they don’t register any return of affection. Then I heard her, calling out to me, whimpering, and I turned back expectant, toward the doggie park. She was at the fence whining and wagging her tail. She was afraid I might leave, missing me because I was too far away. Then the reality of another car pulling into the parking space adjacent. With a huge lunging mahogany lab, that was what she really wanted. And this why I have decided I am ultimately a cat person.