Miracle of miracles!
I just had a good hospital experience. I went in for my maternal serum screening bloodwork, and not only did I get some work done in the waiting room (hooray for blackberries and other fine modern gadgetry leashes), make friends with a hilarious older lady who had spunk behind her walker, cause the blood tech to grin despite her surly self -- I also managed to have my blood drawn, get this: on the first try, with no bruising, no butchering, not any pain or mishap at all -- and the entire thing took mere seconds for both full vials, with nary a collapsed vein.
Gods, I'm so impressed with the hospital next door that the next person who berates it is going to get a long talking to.
(some people are ever so helpful sometimes, like when you tell them "I'll be delivering at X if I can't do a home birth" and they launch into a colourful but baseless tirade about how it's the worst hospital in TO -- and then can't even cough up examples! Let me tell you how nervous I was my first few trips there)
In other news, I made a huge leap of character growth this weekend, venturing out alone (yes I know folks would have gladly joined me, but it was a vision quest!) to IK*A, intentionally, slowly, taking the full tour with mandatory stop for meatballs, and emerging with just the item I had come for and not a single thing out of the marketing psychology bins. Not only did I manage the strength of stomach to GO there on purpose, but I emerged none the worse for wear, neither broke nor unhappy, and having made at least two clerks smile back at me through the means of a simple grin. Coming from the world's greatest IK*A loather and snob, I've been learning about tolerance lately. I still hate the place, the dust, the crowds, the rampant masking of utterly poor quality with art-deco obfuscation techniques, as well as the uniformity and 1984-ness of it all. If I were to do a remake of that film, I think I'd film it entirely in an IK*A store. I mean, for fuck's sake -- they sell PAINTINGS! Each painting should be labelled with an enthusiastic writ about how buying this uniformly framed piece of assembly-line art will make you just like everyone else, just like you've always wanted.
While I'm finally ready to admit that it's the best place to buy bookshelves, despite the inherent immorality of supporting the megacorps, I still refuse to admit that the establishment itself is anything short of heartless and soulless and a scourge on life. (but then, it isn't unique in that either, simply popular enough to draw ire)
So apparently I'm not quite tolerant enough to forego the rant -- but the visist itself was quite a step for me.
An important one, given how critical tolerance is going to become in the next few years.
And in other news, my worklife this week has been surprisingly rife with kudos from on high, including a special congratulations from the former Priv*cy C*missioner of BC that is joining our team this week.
Between that, and the continuing tribulations of so many of my loved ones (including us!) afloat in the health care system, I'm attacking my work with renewed gusto -- and seeing immediate results, which is great for my instant gratification module.
Despite the fact that I have three story skeletons currently lying by the wayside of my desk (although they are more victim to home and baby preparations than work), I have to admit that there is no feeling akin to the one of feeling like your efforts and work are not only being appreciated -- but making a difference.
I may not be changing the world the way I wanted to as a young activist, but I'm certainly making a difference in a large part of it, and I can't help but feel that this is a brilliant point for the optimist team.
Mmm. Stress abounds around us right now, but the bright points are not lost to that cloud yet.