Doc-cupation

Posted on July 20, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_0917How many times over the years have I thought about doing something else?  I don’t know, maybe a hundred times.  A thousand.  Usually it’s when I feel overwhelmed.  Too many patients.  Too much time away from home.  Too many phone calls.  Too many demands.  Too many complaints.

Sometimes it’s when I’ve been annoyed by my partner.  He’s old school.  Dismissive.  He thinks he’s the smartest person in the room.  Probably because he is, but I’m not going to tell him that.  I’m good cop and he’s bad cop.  Mostly it works, until he steps on my toes.

Sometimes it’s the staff.  They were his staff first.  Then I came along.  They have had to adjust.  Sometimes they regress.  And I wonder, will I always be the newby?  Will they ever be mine?  Will they ever think of me as theirs?

Sometimes it’s the patients.  Always wanting more than what a fellow human can provide.  Fix me.  Undo all the wrongs of my life.  Give me that magic pill.  Always be available.  Always be cheerful.  Helpful.  Make that extra phone call to the consultant, to the insurance company, to the pharmacy.  Always go that extra mile.

Then there’s the insurance companies.  The electronic medical records.  Documentation.  Big Brother glaring over my shoulder.

I wonder, what would I do if I didn’t do this?

Firstly, I would tear through my house, cleaning every closet, drawer, under the beds, wash every curtain, blanket, clean the carpets and floors.  I would throw out every text book I have held onto just in case I needed to look something up.  I would clean my van inside and out.  Then I would schedule a massage, manicure, pedicure, haircut and color.  I’d go to the mall and actually buy a complete outfit including shoes and jewelry.  And I would get fitted for a new bra.  I know, TMI.

After the first week, I would sit in my clean house, looking around for something to do, all manicured in my new outfit, with my boobs held in just the right place and say, oh shit, what have I done?  Now what?

I kind of have to do this job -at least until I pay off my student loans.  No other job will give me the kind of money I need to pay off those ridiculous loans.  Plus, I kind of like my job.  I get to talk to people, get to know them and their families, help them.  What other job would do that for me?  What other job would pay me to help others?  I get to keep my brain sharp.  I get to think for a living.  It’s challenging.  It’s fun.  It’s heart-breaking.  I laugh a lot.  And sometimes there are tears.

To call it a job in so many ways undermines just how important what I do is to me.  How it is my God-given purpose.  How there is no other explanation for how I got here.  I could never have imagined the way that this job has grown tendrils that burrow into my soul, take root into my being, and  bears the fruit of my humanity.

Why would I ever want to do anything else?

 

Posted in Healthcare Today, Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Art of the Hug

Posted on July 15, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_3240I have had a lot of hugs lately.  Mostly I like hugs.  I like short hugs, long hugs, all kinds of hugs.  It’s nice.

I have had a lot of hugs lately, not because of anything I’ve done, but because I lost my mother last week.  It was unexpected as such things sometimes are.  There was no prolonged illness, no deadly diagnosis.  She simply couldn’t breathe, woke me from sleep to tell me, and within minutes I was performing CPR.  EMS arrived quickly and took over.  She never regained a rhythm, she never regained consciousness.  I lost her to the great unknown and I couldn’t pull her back from the edge.

Strangely, it feels like she’s just gone on vacation.  She’ll be back.  Except she won’t.

She lived with us for the past 3 years, moving in after my parents divorced after 38 years.  My dad followed close behind, sold his condo and moved to the same city as the rest of us.  They remained great friends and she watched over him.  She took him to his appointments, took him grocery shopping, and they spent time together with their grandkids.  She spent her last day on earth working in his garden, making spaghetti for my kids’ supper, and resting in her room above our garage.  She seemed fine.

I don’t remember the last time I hugged or kissed her, unless chest compressions and rescue breaths count, because I remember that all too vividly.

I never know exactly what to do when someone passes away.  Do I send a card?  Do I make a casserole?  Do I send flowers?

As humans, we feel the pain of other humans.  We want to help ease that pain, especially when it is someone we care about.  I think that’s where the hug comes in.  When someone hurts, the instinct is to embrace them, put our hearts as close to the other as we can.  Maybe the embrace will allow the empathizer to absorb the pain of the afflicted, transfer the heartache from one heart to the other, and ease their pain.  And you know what?

It helps.

When you are the person that hurts, people will embrace you.  They will linger for longer than they would normally, pulling you in tight and letting you whimper and cry into their neck.  Maybe their eyes will shut tightly as they hold back their own tears.  They speak into your ear.  It’s OK.  She’s in a better place.  It will get easier.  Remember the good times.  She’s still in your heart.  She’s with God now.  

There is no rush to let go.  You can stay as long as you want.  They will wait for you to let go first.  They will hold you up against the weight of the pain, but only for that moment.  They can’t have all the pain, that would be unfair.  It’s yours.  Most of the time, you will have to bear it yourself.  But they want to help, so you let them.

Your children will want lots of hugs, too.  More than normal.  They will call you from the other room.  Mom?  What is it?  Can I have a hug?  Your husband will reach for you because he’s hurting, too.  And your dad.  He feels lost and maybe a little guilty for not being a better husband.  So even though you hurt, you help others ease their pain.  You share their burden.  You try to lighten the weight of their grief.

Maybe with time, the heartache will ease.  Maybe the trick my brain is playing on me will stop and I will realize that my mom is not really on vacation somewhere.  It’s all not just a dream or a nightmare.  It just is.

For now, I will rely on the hugs (virtual and real) that are generously heaped upon me.  I will allow myself to be held up under the weight of my grief by the embrace of others.  I will tell myself that –it’s OK.  She’s in a better place now.  It will get easier.  Remember the good times.  She’s still in my heart.  She’s with God now.  

 

Posted in My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 15 Comments

Men-tor

Posted on July 6, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_3003When you are a female in a male-dominated field, you tend to have a lot of male mentors.  As I look back on my career and my education, I can only remember one true asshole that I encountered.  The rest of my men-tors were incredibly generous, respectful, and encouraging to me.

So you probably want to hear about that one asshole, right?  Glass half empty kind of people aren’t you?  All gloom and doom?  Wallow in the mud?  Enjoy gawking at car accidents much?  It’s OK, I’ll oblige.  This time.  Oh hell, every time.

You’ll have to refer back to one of my earlier posts.  Let me make it easier for you:

Death Becomes Her

The surgeon and I were between cases so we sat idly in the doctor’s lounge that was within the OR suite.  He was reading the newspaper, I was halfheartedly leafing through a dreadful golf magazine with one eye on the television.  Another surgeon, a vascular surgeon, came in and stood before my surgeon in what appeared to be an epic tizzy.  In all honesty, I had no idea what they were discussing, I think it was all about hospital administration gobbly gook.  I was too enthralled in the latest golf news to notice.  The vascular surgeon stopped abruptly, took one look at me, who wasn’t even paying attention, and promptly said:

You.  Hey you.  Who are you?

Me?  (looking around, it must be me) Oh, I’m Kim.  I’m a medical student.

I don’t give a f^ck who you are.  Get the f^ck out of here!  Leave right now!  You have no right to be here.  Go!   Leave!  Get the f^ck out!

He moved towards me, intimidating, his body coming closer with each exclamation.  I was in a state of absolute shock.  I looked at my surgeon in desperation.  I’m not supposed to leave him.  We were going to be scrubbing in for a case momentarily.  Where was I supposed to go?  You can’t just hang around the OR hallways.  Why wasn’t he standing up for me?  Did he really just use the f-word, like 50 times?  Can he do that?  My surgeon waved his hand toward me, motioning for me to leave.

It’s OK Kim, go ahead and leave.

So I did.  I went into the locker room.  Went into a bathroom stall and tried my damnedest not to cry.  I was about 85% successful.  I was petrified.  My heart was racing.  My hands were shaking.  I concentrated on taking deep breaths.  The last thing that I wanted to do was let anyone see that he had gotten to me.

I never quite felt the same about my surgeon again.  I felt betrayed.

Later we would rejoin in the OR and he never mentioned it.  Like it never happened.

Months later, I was rotating with the hospital neurosurgeon group.  They were a wonderful and supportive group of guys and in casual conversation, I told one of them about the experience.  He said it didn’t surprise him.  That’s all.  And we went onto other topics.

One night, we were following up on a few patients before heading home.  I saw that asshole vascular surgeon again.  He was rounding on some of his patients, too.  My heart sank.  I felt that fear all over again.  I felt intimidated.  My heart was racing and inside I cowered.  The neurosurgeon said:IMG_3004

Hey J working late tonight?

They had idle conversation, I was invisible, thankfully, and then:

Meet my medical student, this is Kim.

And that same vascular surgeon had to shake my hand.  And I knew that he knew what was happening because a funny look flashed across his face.  Or maybe I gripped his hand a little too tightly.  He couldn’t make me leave this time.

 

 

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Brain-Eating Amoebas

Posted on July 3, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2145I live in an area where “Lake Life” is a thing.  I don’t really get it.  You see, I grew up with the ocean practically in my backyard, a mere bike ride away.  The ocean dwarfs any other body of water.  It kicks its ass.  You can have your lake, I’ll take the ocean any day.

The “Lake Life” is actually a little amusing.  The lake near us is manmade and is used as a source of cooling water for the nuclear power plant that sits right next to it.  The people that live on the lake are incredibly wealthy.  Most of these homes are worth millions of dollars.  There is a culture around the lake and I admit I participate in it:  fishing, boating, kayaking, swimming.

I just like water in general.  If I can’t have the ocean, the lake is a viable alternative.

There are rivers, too.  Our family enjoys all the summer activities in the water.  It’s fun, relaxing, and we are carefree.

Except now, a young woman has died after a trip to a local waterpark.  And not in the most common way either, like drowning.  It was from an amoeba.  I little tiny microscopic blob that found its way into her nasal passageways, up her olfactory nerve, and into her brain.

The amoeba is officially called Naegleria fowleri and can be found in warm bodies of water like lakes and shallow slow moving rivers, at the runoff of power plants, in natural warm springs and generally in warm untreated waters.  Typically the mode of entry is through the nose.  The amoeba produces enzymes that dissolve proteins in the brain resulting in a brain disorder called primary amoebic meningoencephalitis (PAM).

It is thought that the infection is rare, affecting between 0-8 people per summer.  The amoeba is found commonly in the environment, but rarely causes disease.  Most cases have occurred in Texas and Florida, but any Southern or Southwestern states are vulnerable from July-September.

The amoeba loves warm water and can survive in water as hot as 113 degrees.  It cannot survive in salt water (another reason that the ocean is superior).  It cannot survive in chlorinated pools, either.

The unfortunate young woman contracted the amoeba at the U.S. National Whitewater Center (USNWC) in Charlotte, NC.  They have since shut down all water activities.

The USNWC is dedicated to promoting outdoor activities such as hiking, whitewater rafting/kayaking, rock climbing, paddle boarding, mountain biking, and zip lining.  It promotes environmental awareness, healthy, active lifestyles, and community.

She was there with her church youth group.  She was 18 and healthy.  She loved the outdoors and was concerned about the environment.

Jeffrey T. Wise, the CEO of the USNWC  writes in a statement on the company website, “Long before the Center was built, we worked with state and local health officials to determine the appropriate measures to use for water quality. Everyone recognized this was not a pool or a natural river and therefore would present its own unique circumstances. We installed and maintain a state of the art filtration system and ultraviolet radiation treatment system that continuously treats the 12 million gallons of water every 24 hours in addition to supplemental chlorine treatments. Our weekly water tests are conducted by a third party laboratory and we have remained in compliance with all standards and guidelines.”

According to the CDC, this is not an amoeba outbreak, but for one family, this is an unbearable heartbreak.

The USNWC along with the local health department and government officials are working to come up with a plan to avoid future infections by revisiting the use of their water treatment systems and developing more effective ways to keep the public safe from Naegleria fowler.  

For now, it is recommended that persons wear nose clips to avoid contamination in the nasal passageways when participating in water sports in potential amoeba-containing waters.  It is also recommended to avoid submerging the head or nose in the water.

 

 

Posted in Healthcare Today, Medical News | Tagged , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Pet Peeves

Posted on June 29, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2967Kind of like the pet rock, except even more annoying.  My daughter loves to collect rocks that she calls her “pets” and then hands them to me to keep in my pockets.  By the end of the day, I have pockets full of rocks.  Yes, that’s a rock in my pocket and I’m not that happy to see you.  Her rock fetish is cute.  It’s not a pet peeve of mine.

My list of pet peeves may be exhaustive like her rock collection.  Hair on the soap, toilet paper not placed on the holder, dishes not put in the dishwasher, one bite of ice cream left in the container, when my husband has clothes sticking out of the drawers so you can’t shut them all the way, unmatched hangers in the closet (have you seen Mommy Dearest?), piles, I hate piles and clutter -unless it’s my clutter -oh and bad smells.

Umm…as I reread this it occurs to me that the list above pretty much has everything to do with my darling husband, love ya babe, but you are really freaking annoying to me.  Now back to the bad smells….

I’m forever asking, what’s that smell?  I seem to be the only one in my little family that can smell shit, farts, rotten food, mold, slime, dirty dishes, garbage that needs to be taken out, toilets that need to be cleaned, bad breath, body odor, dirty feet, cat litter that needs to be changed, dog poo on the bottom of someone’s shoe, etc.

After 40 years on this planet, I have discovered my super power.  My sense of smell (and 80’s hairband trivia).  And it’s pretty worthless.  In fact, if I had to give up one of my senses it would be the sense of smell, rendering me powerless (I am aware that giving up smell will likely force me to give up taste, too).  My sense of smell is actually a bit of a burden.  So what if I smelled that fart a mile away, what’s the use in it really?

Did you fart?  Yes.  OK…just making sure.

What’s that smell?  I don’t smell anything.  It’s the garbage.  It smells terrible.  Dear God, what’s in there?  Dunno (shrugs shoulders and walks off)

Something smells bad.  What’s it smell like?  Like wet dog that rolled around on a rotting fish.  I don’t smell anything.  Did you brush your teeth this morning?  No, I forgot.

Which brings me to my last pet peeve.  When you smell something bad and no one else is bothered by it, you get to be the one to find and remove that smell.  I take out the garbage, turn on the dishwasher, wash the dirty clothes, change the cat litter.  I’m the one that hounds my children to take baths to wash their pits, feet, and brush their teeth.  I am the purveyor of deputrification (apparently that’s not a word per Google).  I am the fanatic in finding the feculent.  I will obliterate the odiferous.  I repudiate the repugnant.  I will fastidiously defeat the fetid.  I could do this all day.  And I do.  All day.

And it’s a thankless job.

 

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Rough Edges

Posted on June 26, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_3138I imagine myself coming into this world, my soul kind of resembling a rock, heavy and complete with all those rough jagged edges.  Probably not a comfortable thought for my dear mom pushing me into the world, but alas I was born via c-section.

Plus the jagged edges are more of an internal thing anyway -not literally on the outside, jeez don’t we women suffer enough during childbirth? It’s bad enough I pushed out 2 cantaloupes -anesthetized comfortably with an epidural both times.

Hi, I’m on my way to the hospital, my water just broke.  You’re going to need to have that epidural ready when I hit the door, OK?  And don’t even think of starting that Pitocin without it!  That shit is the devil.

Time and circumstances have tumbled me about, smoothing my rough surfaces, taming my jagged edges.

In the end, after being tossed about by the forces of this world and this life, my little internal soul rock will be smooth and shiny.  Like a worry stone.  And I won’t be so annoyed.  Irritated.  Aggravated.  Pissed off.  Restless.  Confused.  Nothing will stick in my craw.  Everything will just roll right off my smooth shiny internal soul rock.

I feel the changes already.  There is a lessening of fear within myself.  What do I have to prove anyway?  I’ve already done everything I’ve set out to do.  Well, almost everything.  There’s always just one more thing.  Like this blog.  Like a book.  Like my work.  Like raising my kids.  Like loving my husband.  Like making a difference.  Like being kind.  Like living in such a way that the world is better for my existence.  Which is impossible.

We should foster some kids, adopt some more stray cats and dogs, get an electric car, convert our house to solar power, become vegans, buy all our clothes from thrift stores, grow our own food, write my senator and congressperson and tell them to vote for gun control, gay marriage, get a poster board and write on it “Everyone, just stop being a bunch of assholes” and stand out in front of city hall.

Or not.

I might get a burger.  I might get my nails done.  I might hand my kids an IPad to keep them busy so I can concentrate on being witty in my blog.  I might crank up the air-conditioning and put a blanket over my lap while I write.

I might just sit here and do nothing.

Because I’m not all smooth and shiny yet.  I still have some of those rough jagged edges.

 

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Doctorsplaining

Posted on June 22, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_3204

Doctor-splain-ing (verb)         The way a doctor explains medical issues to a patient in a manner that is considered condescending or patronizing

Doctor:  Ms. Doe, you have diabetes.  What that means is that you have too much sugar in your blood because you eat too many concentrated sweets and you lead a very sedentary lifestyle.  You’re also fat.  You need to eat less Snickers bars, go for a walk, and lose weight.  If you don’t make these changes you may go blind, lose your legs, have a stroke or heart attack, or be put on dialysis because your kidneys will fail.  Now here are 3 new medications for you to take; one to protect your kidneys, one to lower your blood sugar, and one to lower your cholesterol.  I think that I have been very clear.  This isn’t rocket science.  Now, do you have any questions?

In case you didn’t already know it, when you and your doctor are in a room together for your checkup, the smartest person in that room is NOT you (the same goes for me when I’m a patient).

I’ve done it.  I’ve doctorsplained.

A patient and her mother came into the office.  Her mother was not happy with her daughter’s progress with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  Her daughter was a grown woman, but her mother spoke for her.  She pulled out her iPhone and pulled up an article from the internet that she wanted me to read about Butter-ic Acid.

WTF is Butter-ic Acid?

You don’t know?  You obviously don’t read much on my daughter’s illness.  It’s made from butter.  If my daughter just ate more butter, her medical issues would get better.  That’s what my research has shown me.  Just Google it.  And that’s what I’ve told her to do, eat more butter.

I chuckled a little.  This lady is looney tunes.  And then I doctorsplained.

Ma’am, I don’t rely on Google for my medical information, I rely on Randomized Double-Blind Placebo Controlled Studies.  Otherwise known as science.  You have to be careful about what you read on the internet.  You have to know your sources and you have to be able to interpret the information that you are reading.

I said this while looking over my glasses that were perched low on my nose.  Studious.  Pretentious-like.

I refused to read the article.

Her mom was pissed.

I completed the visit, completely ignoring the mom and only talking to the patient.  When I had a break from seeing patients, guess what I did?

I Googled butter-ic acid.  I know, I’m a hypocrite.

It turns out she was referring to butyric acid.  D’uh.  Which is found as a byproduct of fermentation of fiber by bacteria in the gut.  Or when butter goes rancid.  And it also smells like vomit.  There are theories that Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and changes in gut flora may be connected.  There is ongoing research in this field.  You can’t really ingest more butyric acid unless you like the taste and smell of vomit.  You have to eat fiber and rely on the gut bacteria to make butyric acid, which turns out may be important in treating IBS and other intestinal diseases.

So she was half right.  Except what she needed wasn’t more butter, it was more fiber, and maybe some probiotics.  And maybe a little less momsplaining.

 

 

 

 

Posted in Healthcare Today, Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Compassion Fatigue

Posted on June 18, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2850Anyone in the medical field knows a little something about this one.

Likewise anyone who is a first responder, a police officer, a therapist, social worker, teacher, caretaker, a parent, pretty much anyone who works with people in general, or anyone who watches the news, peruses Facebook or any other social media network, or even reads the occasional informative blog.

So basically everyone knows a little something about this.

How much more sadness, trauma, hate, rage, violence, death, injustice, unfairness, stupidity, uncertainty can we all take?  How much until none of us can give a shit anymore?

That’s what Compassion Fatigue is -overwhelmed by too much tragedy and suffering, people become conditioned to feel less compassion in general.  They just don’t care.  They become numb.

I feel it.  Mostly because my mere compassion doesn’t result in any changes.  Like when 20 children were murdered at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012 and I honestly thought I wouldn’t stop crying.  I just knew the whole country must have felt the same way.  Those babies, around my son’s age.  He would be starting Kindergarten that fall.  Their faces like my son’s, sweet, happy, silly, innocent.  How could that have happened to them?  There was no way it could ever happen again.  This tragedy would finally be the last.  We as a nation would collectively make a change.

But that didn’t happen.  Nothing really changes, does it?  Even the death of children didn’t make much of a difference.  Since then 1065 people have died in mass shootings in the United States, but I didn’t feel all of their deaths.  I was numb.  I was tired.

It’s happened again.  This time 49 adults in a nightclub in Orlando.  Cue the requisite inundation of social media posts and tweets, half-assed sentiments of prayers and thoughts, thoughts and prayers.  I can barely look at their faces because I feel that I failed them.  I didn’t take a stand.  I didn’t make a difference and my tears for murdered children were as meaningful as everyone’s thoughts and prayers.  Which is to say they really meant nothing at all.

 

Posted in Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Male-ennium

Posted on June 15, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor
IMG_2027

This is a depiction of an airplane/rocket ship taking off into space by my young son

My partner and I had a meeting yesterday -with the CEO of the hospital.  He came to our office, had lunch catered, and just wanted to shoot the shit.  Of course there were ulterior motives.  I’ve been in this area and at this practice for 9 years and the CEO has never ever been to my office.  In fact, when we met and shook hands, he said, “how long have you worked here?”  I wanted to say, um longer than you’ve been CEO and I don’t just work here, I freaking own half the place*, but geez that would have sounded snarky.

We sat in the conference room, eating our Panera sandwiches.  There were 3 men and me.  Mostly they talked about sports, golf, motorcycles, and the good old days when drug reps took you on golf trips.  I didn’t say much.  In fact, I don’t think I said anything.  It was awkward.  I don’t like sports.  I don’t play golf.  I don’t ride a motorcycle.  I’m too young to remember the days when drug reps spent loads of money influencing the docs to prescribe their drug.

I kept thinking, should I interject?  Should I add something to the conversation?  But what?  Maybe I’ll talk about our RV.  We don’t ride motorcycles, but we have that crazy RV and a couple of kayaks.  Maybe I should say that.  But I didn’t.  It would have sounded dumb.  I would have been trying too hard.  I know how those comments are met, a gentle smile, like a pat on the head, implying –that’s nice little lady, now let the men talk.  

I often wonder why God made me the way that I am.   I am little.  Really little.  I look young, too -mostly because I’m little.  The problem is, I don’t realize this except in moments like that meeting, when I feel my smallness.  And it pisses me off because inside I am a 6-foot Amazonian Warrior Goddess.

The meeting ended early and my clinic wouldn’t start for another 45 minutes so I sat with some of the ladies from our office in the kitchen.  I told them about the meeting and the male-dominated conversation.  My female companions sat around me nodding their heads in understanding.  It felt like home.  One of them (I will not name names), smiled and said, “Next time, bring your dildo with you and slap it down on the table.  Let ’em know that you brought your dick with you, too.”  The room erupted in laughter.

That’s my girl.

*In all honesty, “owning” a medical practice is almost worthless.  If I were to “sell” it, there is no real profit.  In the past doctors would retire and sell their practice for a nice little chunk of change to a new doctor.  No one wants to own a practice anymore.  Everyone wants to work for a hospital system and let them worry about the day-to-day operations.  They want a check at the end of the day.  That isn’t always possible when you “own” a business.  There are bills, rent, utilities, supplies, insurance, salaries.  After all that is paid, I get paid.  Most of the time.  Who wants all that headache?  So the hospitals scoop up all the little privately-owned practices.  Like ours.

 

Posted in Healthcare Today, Medical Musings, My Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Apples Can’t Keep Me Away

Posted on June 12, 2016 by deconstructingdoctor

IMG_2809I can’t hate apples no matter what they say they do to doctors, you know, like keep them away.  I love them.  I love them even more now that they come precut in bags so all I have to do is reach in and munch away.  What genius came up with this?  How do the apples NOT turn brown?  You don’t understand, I am being serious.  I know you guys are much smarter than me and know all the science behind this.  I could google it, but I prefer to remain pleasantly ignorant and amazed by the sliced apples in the bag -that DON’T turn brown!!!

How many times have I opened the refrigerator door, perused the contents, saw the whole apples in the bin and just went MEH, too much work?  I prefer MY apples to be cut into slices, with the middle neatly scooped out and maybe a dollop of peanut butter on top.  When they are whole apples, you have to wash them, and cut them, scoop out the middle and trim any weird brown frilly parts from the bottom.  Then you have to eat them quickly before they turn brown.  I would just end up eating a banana or maybe some Cheetos instead.

But now, I buy them in the bags.  Is this expensive?  I’m sure.  Is this environmentally friendly?  Um, no.  Do I care?  Well, yeah, I’m going to care a little.  Just a little, and then it will pass and I will buy those bags of sliced apples and hand them out to the kids, to the dog, bring them to work.  I have never eaten so many apples in my life.  This has been life changing for me, I can not deny the impact that the amazing sliced apples in the bag that don’t turn brown has had on my life!

What I would like to propose to the great minds that developed this radical new way of apple packaging is that they now start working on the avocado.  Here is my dilemma: I love avocados, but I am the only one who does in the house.  When I buy an avocado and cut it, I have to eat the whole thing or it turns all mushy and brown.  Eating a whole avocado is just too much for one little person.  I would like it sliced up and put in bags so I can enjoy a little bit whenever I want.  I would like those smart apple folks to get to work on that for me, please.

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