Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Random Thoughts on a Warm December Day

If it takes six hard thrusts of the plunger to unstop the loo -

and the plunger ALMOST breaks.......

you're eating too much fiber.


Okay, about Britney Spears - everyone else is talking about her, why shouldn't I?

I've studied Anatomy textbooks with less detail than her recent "Southern Exposures". While it is of mild professional interest that Ms Brit had a low transverse cesarean incision, I didn't need to know that :

1. Nothing comes between her and her limo leather seats - NOTHING!

2. She's shorn cleaner than a yearling sheep!

Please tell me they sanitized the seat. I mean, we all know where her nether regions have been.

Seriously, I sure hope she grows up, FAST. She has two BABIES, she's an adult, she gave up her rights to wanton childishness when she said YES to motherhood. I really worry for her kids.

Oh, and to the idiotic teen boys who thought it was cool to flip the bird to my child, and call him "retard" during his birthday party at the mall arcade, I have something special to say, just for you two :

Karma is a bitch. You won't always be young and financially supported by your parents. Someday, you'll get yours. And, please note that the both of you are damned lucky my child was engrossed in a video game, and did not see, nor HEAR you, or there would have been a big old ugly scene with you two in starring roles.

I'm sure your mothers would be so proud.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.

My column in Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Friday, October 13, 2006

Friday the 13th - Bad luck is REAL!

This evening, I slipped on my tile floor and landed in a perfect Russian split.

Note that I am 43 years old, I am not a gymnast, and I am most definitely NOT petite. I am the last person on earth that should be performing such a stunt.

OUCH just doesn't give justice to the total pain experience that was that unplanned physical feat.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Five Years Later - Remembering 9-11

September 11, 2001, Bergen County, NJ before the first tower was hit:

I walked with my son, then in second grade, to a school function at the nearby college which featured the NJ Knicks basketball team. Pictures were to be taken, and I was looking forward to seeing him in the local newspaper. It was a beautiful day, the sky was a deep blue, with not a cloud in sight. Ten miles from Manhattan, in suburban NJ, it was peaceful, calm - just a fabulous morning. I remember thinking how my son would long remember meeting the local sports heroes. He was smiling and happy, I was happy for him. Work beckoned though - I left him with his class, to enjoy the day.

While walking home from that Norman Rockwellesque scene, to call a taxi, I saw a plane flying abnormally low in the sky. I was alarmed, but I brushed off the thought as I hurried home. Twenty minutes later, the taxi arrived and I entered the cab. The driver was one I knew, so it wasn’t odd that he asked me if I had heard the news. “What news?”, I thought. His next sentence was like a blow to the chest : “A plane has hit the World Trade Center.”

The First Tower is Hit

A plane had hit the World Trade Center. “Oh God”, I thought, “could it have been that plane? The huge jet, flying low, too low?”. I was immediately worried about my family - we lived so close to Manhattan, what if we were next? What if this was the beginning of a full-scale war? I then worried what I would find at work. I was employed as a staff physician at a county jail, what did the inmates know? Surely the jail would be in lock down.

When I arrived at the jail, the mood was somber. All that was known at reception was that the WTC had been hit, no details. I walked into the infirmary, and the news had just made it there. Of course, I was concerned about the safety of those incarcerated, that was my job; and I was certainly concerned for my coworkers, especially the nurses. Doctors, we worked in the infirmary, the nurses had to work amongst the inmate population. Would they be safe?

And my family. Oh God, were they okay? I called my husband, the other Dr. Wooton. He just started in a new office practice, a practice that had, among its clients, many who worked in the Manhattan area. His staff took turns monitoring the press coverage. He was okay, he informed me that the nearby hospital was on standby, in the event that NYC hospitals were overwhelmed with casualties from what would be known as Ground Zero.

A little after ten a.m., I called my children’s school. The second grade class had returned. I was told that the children were not made aware of the WTC, and that they were going through the emergency contacts to determine which parents worked in Manhattan. I wanted to pick up my children, I was told that they were encouraging parents to pick up there children, in the event there was a child whose parent worked at the WTC. Just in case. I thought of all the children who could potentially be left without a parent, or both parents. I wished the school secretary who fielded the call a safe day. I didn’t know what else to say.

My boss generously granted my request to gather my children, as the jail was placed in lock down, effectively canceling the scheduled infirmary appointments. As I wished my colleagues a safe day, my mind was already racing. My children were nine and seven years old. How could I tell them about such devastating news? During the taxi ride home, I wrestled with the words I would use. Nothing seemed appropriate. I feared my relief at seeing them would result in tears, scaring them even more.

Telling the news to my children - enter the media

A late morning pickup, the second week of school - there was nothing normal about that. My children knew something bad had happened before I arrived to get them. As we walked home, it was eerily quiet. By this time, all air traffic had ceased. Every step we took was audible, and jarring. I told my children that their Dad would be home soon, and that we would talk to them about their early dismissal as soon as he got home.

When my husband did arrive, we did something that I would come to regret. In an attempt to tell them what happened, we turned on the television news. The planes hitting the WTC, the towers tumbling - by the time we were all home, the second tower was tumbling as we watched, no warning. The children saw the graphic images, and were visibly shaken. I turned off the coverage, only to turn in back on when my husband told me the Pentagon had been hit, and a fourth plane had gone down in Pennsylvania.

They had seen the news, they knew how close we lived to the WTC, and they were alarmed. In the weeks prior to the devastation, my son had been pleading to go there. My son was very upset, and when he asked if we were going to be attacked next, I didn’t know what to say. I told him that no planes would be flying until the government determined the skies were safe. I prayed he couldn’t see my fear. My daughter saw it, felt it, and shared it. Soon , it was announced that the bombings were a series of terrorist attacks. That was too much for such young children - the TV went off again, and I would not turn it back on. From then on, I relied on the internet for news, a reliance that lives to this day.

The day drags into evening - feeling the terror

When you live near two large airports, the sound of overhead planes becomes part of the background noise. When air traffic ceased that devastating day, the silence was deafening. The weather was still beautiful, the silence conveyed an unnatural stillness that just wasn’t normal for suburban NJ. I was expecting a phone call from my husband, stating the hospital was in a state of emergency - it never happened. Surely there must be wounded, why weren’t they arriving? A sense of dread worsened with each passing hour.

The silence was shattered with the arrival of military helicopters. We not only heard them, we felt them, they made the house vibrate. They began flying over the area late in the afternoon; it would be at least two days before they ceased. Yet, the absence of commercial air traffic was still felt. It was such a part of the background that without the noise, it was hard to sleep. My husband and I did not make the kids return to their beds, when they came to our room, unable to sleep.

The aftermath

After it was revealed that terrorists cells linked to al-Qaida were found in Bergen County, my belief in the safety of my home was shattered. Reports of anthrax being spread via the US postal service, some originating from a post office in southern NJ, that was horrifying. Random citizens contracting anthrax from their mail - biological warfare was no longer the stuff of science fiction, this was fact! Physicians were given education modules via the Center of Disease Control to treat presumptive anthrax, husband and I completed them, fearing that we would need to use them, soon.

My children were deeply affected. My daughter, at her young age, wrote essays and poems about a landmark she would never see, my son drew pictures of planes hitting the towers long after the press died down. I worried, about my family’s safety, about copycat attacks, about the security of the jail, and about the threat of widespread contagion from anthrax. And the skyline - it was scarred. Smoke billowed from Ground Zero for days after the attack. I saw it every day as I went into work. I wondered if life would ever return to normal.

Yet through it all, the American spirit prevailed. Neighborhoods, communities, and indeed, the nation, rallied around those affected by the horror that was 9-11. We became stronger. We lost a sense of complacency. We saw past that which had divided us. We were AMERICANS, and we would not be defeated. And my children felt the pride of being American, even in frightening times.

Five years later

Five years later, Osama bin Laden is still at large. Ground Zero is yet undeveloped. War rages in Iraq, in the name of “fighting terrorism”. I am not sure how Iraq figures into 9-11, but I do feel strongly that our troops fighting abroad should be honored for the service to our nation. Regardless of my political affiliation, I am forever grateful that they have chosen to put their lives on the line to preserve our freedom, and our lives.

My children have recovered from the emotional trauma. My son is concerned about wildlife conservation, my daughter has varied interests, especially in the area of international relations. Both realize that there are measures in place to thwart a repeat 9-11 scenario.

And my husband and I? How are we, five years later? We marveled at the lovely weather we are having today. We shared a few thoughts regarding that horrible day, five years ago. And we decided there will be no viewing any of the many 9-11 commemorations, no listening to radio anniversary coverage. We will never again be the complacent people we were. At any moment, NYC could become a war zone. We would be among the wounded. We have learned to tell our children we love them, and mean it. We have learned that they will never be too old to hug, to comfort, and to worry about. And we have learned that in the end, our family is all we really have.

Hug your loved ones extra tight tonight. And remember, in your own fashion, how your life has been affected.

© 2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

How I Spent The First Day Of School

While my children were toiling away at school, I was ordering my very first laptop computer. Here it is, in all it's glory :

Kathy's Dream Machine

This little beauty has all I need to actually get out of the house, observe life, and WRITE!

Hurray for portability, mobility, and tons of new material!

HELLO LIFE, BYE BYE FRIDGE TEMPTATION AND TELEVISION!

To my children, I say : This is the first day of school for Mom, kiddoes, and I, for one, will be doing my homework! I expect you to do the same.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.
Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

I've Become My Mother

My daughter and I will be buying new jeans for her on Thursday (school starts tomorrow, we bought her a ton of new shirts - oops, forgot the jeans, and she's growing like a weed)

I mentioned to her she would look good in Lee Rider® jeans, and she shoots back "low riders"?

I said "It's school, hon, not a singles bar".

Yep, I've become my mother.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.
Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Monday, September 04, 2006

Steve Irwin Killed By Stingray - Farewell, Mate

Australian naturalist and crocodile conservationist Steve Irwin died today, after being stung by a stingray.

My children have watched Steve Irwin, aka The Crocodile Hunter, since they were tiny children. His passionate love for wildlife had a tremendous impact on them, they are both avid animal lovers. My son, in particular, has become quite the conservation-minded young man, and I have to credit “The Crocodile Hunter” for igniting a passion for animals in my son that intensifies daily.

I am floored by the loss of this ebullient personality. It seems wrong to say “Rest In Piece” to a man who was constant motion, enthusiasm, and energy. All I can say, without tearing up, is Steve, you’re be sorely missed, mate. Farewell and THANK YOU for all you’ve done to inspire children around the world.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.
Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

You 've Got to Admire His Persistance


I was enjoying my first morning cup of coffee, when I noticed that my dog was frantically pawing at one of my shoes. I tried shooing him away from said shoe, but he was determined.

I realized I'd have to get up from my chair, to deliver the "no shoe" message up close and personal. Only when I got to where my shoe and my dog were locked in mortal combat, I realized there was a dog treat in my shoe. I had no idea how it got there. I gave the dog the shoe treat and went back to my coffee.

Wouldn't you know that the instant he finished his treat, he went to the other shoe, the first shoe's mate, looking for another treat. After coming up empty, he began eyeing my other pairs, looking for hidden treats.

After striking paydirt exactly once, my Jeffie has decided that my shoes are snack dispensers. You have to admire his persistance.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.
Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

I'm MELTING!

Hot flashes suck.

That's all. Carry on.

Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Tired, Yet Poetically Inspired

Have you ever been so tired
Sleepy, grumpy, uninspired
That when 'twas time to awaken
You almost needed be shaken?

If you have, I feel your pain
But I really should not complain
For at least I am still talking
And not aimlessly sleepwalking


These days, of all things I hold dear
I have to make it crystal clear
My love for life would be waist deep
If I could only get some sleep

You say you love me, show it now
You’re good at sleeping, show me how!
For I know I’d shake off my blues
If a got a full nights worth of snooze!


Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray to God my sleep is deep
For if it isn’t, I will weep
At the loss of my REM sleep.

If I could have this wish, I’d swear
To stand up in the township square
And at full volume, I’d declare
Naps are vital to our health care

So, can you guess what my problem is? Can you?

I have virtually no attention span when I’m sleep deprived. So, since I’m tired all the time, my lengthy prose has turned to rhyme.

Tomorrow, I hope to return with my daily dosage of prose, after I’ve had a full night’s repose. Please help me stop the rhyming, I don’t want poetic timing.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.

Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Monday, July 17, 2006

Today, I’ve Seen A Miracle

I sometimes have a difficult time balancing my parenting responsibilities for my children. Both children are artistic, intelligent, inquisitive, and rather sensitive. Oh yes, and they both have the attention spans of distracted wolverines. One child with all those qualities can try one’s patience. Two such “high impact” children, well, that there is a challenge.

I often feel as if I am just barely meeting their parenting needs, for they are often jostling for my attention at the same time they are intentionally taunting each other. A good mother would give such sensitive children her undivided attention, and that would make them get along, right? Okay, so that’s a rhetorical question, but there is a point to this.

Today, I learned that sometimes, if I would just step back and let them work things out, the results are far better that any solution I might offer. And once in a great while, the results are miraculous.

A little background here : My son attends summer school, out of our school district. His school friends do not live near us, for him to hang out with his friends requires synchronized day planners and lots of driving. As he is nowhere near driving age, we parents are the chauffeurs du jour. Usually, this means he only sees his friends on weekends, during the week, he can be found playing some sort of video game. As you can imagine, he is lonely (which translates to “I’m BORED” in twelve-year-old language).

This afternoon, after my kids finished lunch, my daughter asked my son to tag along with her to the library. Today, my daughter has a decoration committee meeting there and tonight, there is a book discussion group she will be attending with her best friend. The discussion group meets once a week, and today, my daughter wants to take her brother. My son, the boy who hates reading. Her best friend is fond of my son, in a little brother sort of way.

With the promise of food and the company of his sister and their mutual friend, my book-hating, people-shy son is right now at the library, reading a book, in preparation for the book club meeting tonight. Okay, so I had to promise him a ten spot, but that is very cheap, considering that until today, I could not get him to go to the library, much less socialize.

Paying my son to read and be sociable - $10.

My daughter opening her brother up to the world of reading and friendship outside his tiny school : priceless.

Here is a poem I wrote to commemorate the occasion. I will never make a living off my poetic efforts, but the sentiment is heartfelt, and that’s what counts.


You’ve always hated reading
You shy away from crowds,
You often play your games, alone
And barely make a sound

But is that you I’m seeing
Making towards the door,
Following your sister
To read and play and more?

Could it be that all it took
To get beyond your shell,
Was the promise of fun and laughs
From those who know you well?

I swear I’d not believe it
If I hadn’t heard it here,
You’re going to the library -
It’s a miracle, that’s clear!

©2006 Kathleen M Wooton, M.D.

Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Four Hundred Words a Day

This past March, I attended the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, a biannual workshop for humorists held at the University of Dayton, in Ohio. Approximately three hundred writers were gathered at Erma Bombeck’s alma mater, to attend sessions designed to help hone comedic writing skills, as well as socialize with other humor writers.

Erma Bombeck was the writer who not only inspired me to write, she also helped form a bridge of understanding between me and my mother. My mother was an avid reader of Erma Bombeck’s column, and her books. As my mother finished reading each of her works, I was waiting, eagerly, to devour Erma’s latest offering of humor, humor steeped in motherly experience, and at times, exasperation, Through her writings, I could see the struggle of motherhood was universal. I also realized that I should cut my mother (the mother of seven children), a little slack, for if three children had Erma on a roller coaster ride, my mother, the mother of seven children, was on an out of control tilt a whirl, with no off switch in sight.

But I digress. One thing I learned from the workshop, from the director himself, was that Erma Bombeck treated writing as a very serious profession, and that she would set aside time every day, to write at least 400 words a day. She did this daily, no excuses, no “writer’s block”; she and her typewriter had a standing daily date that was iron clad. Simply put, writing was a job and writer’s block was no excuse for failing to deliver the product.

Ten days after returning from the workshop, I had the surgery (and aftermath) that literally threw my world into a tailspin. I was tired, I was cranky, and I was definitely not feeling the desire to see the humor in anything. For several weeks, even sitting in front of my computer keyboard was a chore, for I was tethered to an electrical wound pump that was cumbersome and noisy.

The wound pump was eventually removed, yet still I only wrote when inspiration hit me. I figured, wrongly, that in the past 16 months, I had accumulated enough work to write a book. I gathered all my works, the product of my labor, and realized I had, max, 1/3 of a book.

That’s when inspiration really struck. The words of Time Bete, the workshop director, hit me, hard. Four hundred words a day. Had I stuck to that, I would have had two books worth of material.

Ten years after her premature passing, Erma Bombeck is still inspiring me. Four hundred words a day, that is my mantra. My first goal is to consistently produce the work. I can fret over making it funny after the initial product is delivered. Please wish me luck!

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.
My column at Savvy Women’s Magazine

Monday, July 10, 2006

I’m Losing Weight

Diana Ross I am not, but after stepping off the scale today, I am so happy, I could sing:

I’m losing weight
I want the world to know
Too bad it doesn’t show
I’m losing

The lost weight is probably all “water weight”, but as long as I weigh less today than I did yesterday, I’m happy. The doctor part of my persona keeps telling me “now Kathy, you know too rapid a weight loss isn’t healthy and could lead to health problems”. I’m not at all interested in that “know it all” part of me. The vain part of me, the part that wants to be a famous writer, the part of me that knows that being a famous writer means lots of public promotion of my work, she wants to look good and will take weight loss any way she can get it.

The current recommendation for effective weight loss is to reduce calories and increase exercise enough so that you lose 1 - 2 pounds per week. That is fine if you have a spare tire you need to lose. But for those of us who look as if we could be trying to smuggle someone under our one size fits all t-shirt and “could clothe a whole family with one pair” baggy jeans, one to two pounds per week lost seems barely a drop in the bucket.

I have lost weight before - sixty pounds over a six month period. After the weight loss, I had the first of two major surgeries. Thirty pounds came back after the surgery; the other thirty pounds came back with the progression of the endometriosis that was discovered with the first surgery - pain had me almost immobile.

I have figured that the reason I am losing basically a pound a day is that after all the forced rest, any exercise is going to result in some kind of weight loss. Combine that with a moderate, definitely not painful, change in my dietary habits, and the weight loss makes sense. I have added many more fruits and vegetables to my diet, and I eat a lot less meat. I do like dairy, and will substitute dairy for meat. I’ve even found some vegan dishes that I like (spaa Naturals Thai dinners - prepackaged, ready to serve, no preservatives, DELICIOUS).

Is it wrong that vanity is behind my desire to be healthier? Is it wrong that my motivation to become a leaner, more fit person is so that I don’t embarrass myself in public? Hell to the NO! If vanity is the only reason propelling me to exercise and make healthful food choices, I’ll say that the ends justify the motivation. I’ll embrace all the “isn’t it wonderful to lead a healthy lifestyle” rhetoric when others can see my weight loss, when it’s not just numbers on a scale. Until then, I’ll be losing weight, singing my Diana Ross at the top of my lungs, vanity leading me all the way to a leaner me!

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D. See my column at Savvy Women's Magazine - Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Sunday, July 09, 2006

I’ve Been Away For a While - Here’s Why

There has been a huge gap in my humor writing of late. This past February, I began a battery of medical tests that ended, on April 4th, 2006 in a total abdominal hysterectomy with oopherectomy. In other words, I was spayed. What should have been a relatively uncomplicated procedure was anything but routine.

A week after my surgery, I returned to the doctor’s office to have my surgical staples removed. The staples were removed, only to reveal that the incision had not healed - my skin and underlying tissue were open. I spent another five days in the hospital with IV antibiotics running, and three times daily wound changes (morphine, take me away) , until two days before discharge. A wound vacuum dressing was applied at that time, and I was discharged with a portable vacuum pump, with thrice weekly dressing changes by a visiting nurse.

I spent five weeks on the pump, with a one week break after the first dressing change (I lost approximately a unit of blood after the first dressing change - I had to beg my surgeon to let me leave the E.R.). I was physically and emotionally drained. The only inspiration I had regarded the vacuum pump that I was tethered to.

When I was finally delivered from the flatulence machine that was the vacuum pump, I had another three weeks of “no heavy lifting or exertion” until my incision totally healed. Wouldn't you know that the very DAY that I was able to go back to normal activities, I overdid it (I was chaperoning for my daughter’s school, as they attended a teen arts festival), with a small tear to the newly healed scar. Another few weeks of limited activity followed, with a minor case of the blues as a result. Writing humor just wasn’t something I could do with any sincerity.

I have been left with a rather interesting scar, as a result of having used the wound pump to speed healing of my open surgical wound. As a result, the front of me looks a lot like the back of me. Now, having a set of frontal buttocks is not a welcome addition to my anatomy, but it has inspired me to write. The only way I can handle this large, disfiguring scar is to find the humor and write about it, until I can have the scar excised. There are a lot of columns to be written, and many pounds to lose, before that happens.

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.

Please visit my monthly humor column : Kathy's Kaleidoscope

Friday, February 17, 2006

Colonoscopy Cuisine - A Dirge

Clear liquids, Oh yes, you can brew them
But you can't eat or lick or chew them

I'm so hungry, this I swear
I may eat clean underwear

For it is not upon the list
Of foods, today that must be missed

So, think of me while you savor
Foods with texture and with flavor

And as you eat, I'll shed a tear
For all the food that I hold dear

©2006 Kathleen M. Wooton, M.D.