April 16, 2008 I have been screwing around with my website for a few days and have no idea what to do with it. (I’m waiting on a friend’s new design for me. Four years ago I started teaching myself how to make my own website and I swear this thing has had over 100 different looks. Still, I’m not happy with it. I wish it were easier to cut and paste things. I guess I’m too hands on to deal with code and all that. Anyway, I have one more piece to add to my Spring Collection 2008 shop and then it’s onto Summer! WEEEEE Here are some photos of things I like, as blogs with photos are so much better than those without. I usually don’t even read text. HA. April 14, 2008 http://www.desirapesta.etsy.com I have been working a lot of 16 hour days to finish this collection of solid works. (FOR MEN AND WOMEN) With a large reliance on ruffles, Circus collars, stripes, disparate hues, and hand-painting. This is all very exciting. Quoting the circus, film noir, and my love of Iceland, I make these Spring Things for you. Small runs of only ten of each item. Perfect tailoring and craftswomanship. Here goes. I have eight items up so far and there are about 8 more to come. They will go up within the week. Lots of printed dresses and t-shirts for all will be coming, as well as some surprising delights featured my delicious huge Circus collar and vintage fabrics. In this blawg, I will also realy fine facts and mind wanderings to you and yours. I miss writing and so, I will do it more often. Now I will tell the tale of my experience in the hospital on Thursday. So, I have a bad case of celiac disease, which is not well-founded, nor does anyone, but those who have it, realize the complexities and woes it is. It’s not a matter of avoiding wheat and gluten….it affects your entire being and all of your actions. Anyway, I could go on forever. So I have been feeling bad/sick for the last few weeks and was getting concerned I had a terminal illness. I therefore checked myself into St. Vincent’s E.R. I figured I would have to wait the normal seven hours it takes in an e.r. to be seen, but I was taken right in, much to my surprise. OK, so you know how New Yorkers live their lives on top of complete strangers and share 45 inches of butt room on the train with three others, et cetera et cetera? The same, goes in the hospital. I was taken into a large rectangle with bright white lights that reflected blindingly off of the pearly whites of the floor tiles. There were large hospital scrub blue curtains dissecting the patient areas, but these curtains hardly closed and we were all sharing our illnesses in the same room in the same paperthin uniform on the same stretchers, awaiting our prognoses and/or examinations just inches from each other. I stared at everyone in the room while propped up like a stuffed animal on a hyper-extended bed in my thin dressing gown with an exposed back. The man diagonal to my right was around 60 and stuffing his face with food from a styrofoam container. (Keep in mind that this man would be stuffing his face from this Mary Poppins Bag-like interminable supply of food container for the next three hours I was here.) Directly across from me was a Hispanic woman who was lying flat and still, never once lifting her head. Diagonal and to the left was an elderly man who two nurses were festering over. They couldn’t plunge a needle into a vein without it popping back out. For twenty minutes they plummeted into his circulatory system foraging for an accepting vein to no avail, while his head turned to his side searching for a distraction with a bitten lip. I stared at him in distress, I wished he would find comfort in my rooting for their success. Either they gave up, I got distracted, or they managed to do their thing, but I moved on. A svelt and petite Asian woman sat on her bed staring straight ahead of her. None of the fluttering doctors or nurses took notice. Her oval glasses framed her eyes and her limp grey hair hung at both sides like bookends, and I’m not even trying to be poetic. Two shifts of hair bookended her head. She is still for quite some time. I needed to use the restroom and so I go around the corner and slide inside. The door must have been designed for security and safety purposes because it opens both ways and to close it, you have to find its perfect middle and locks it fast. While inside I realize that the gap between the door and the doorframe is about 2.5″ wide, which allows the doctors and receptionist outside, a nice view. I try blocking it with my cloaked arm. I return to my stretcher, the hole while feeling a bit out of place. A very young, pretty, and tanned nurse in a brilliant blue green uniform came to my side. She had a nose ring and transcended her gender in demeanor in a way I admire in a lady. She asked me what was up and why I was here. I told her about the pains and pangs I had been having and she nodded and prodded me with more questions. She then proceeded to lay out her own empathetic tale that mirrored my own involving her, her intestines, stress, quitting her job, and the disappearance of said intestine woes and said stress with said job. I liked her. She was a cool nurse. Bedside manner, AOK, A++. Another youth came to my side, yet this one was younger and more stern. She introduced herself as a P.A., which my mind automatically translates as Production Assistant, yet done once more is Physicians Assistant. This lady had something more to prove than the first nurse. She had mousey hair and under her scrubs I imagined there was a Crystal Method tshirt and a tattoo or two involving faeries or Metallica. I think I know her kind. She asked questions more hurriedly than Nurse One and threw out medical erudition to prove her intelligence. “Yes, I am anemic.””This has been going on all of my life, yet it’s been this bad for two weeks”. She didn’t seem to listen. I think she was challenging my self-diagnosis of celiac, as doctors and medics tend to do. You know, brushing things off as psychosomatic, or stress-related, or “a muscle”. Sorry, sister, this shit’s the real deal, it ain’t no flu. Alright, they take notes and leave. The action begins. In wheels an ancient 70 pound woman wailing. Looking at her face, I shrink into my bed. She looks to have been hit by a two by four across the face. Poor Poor Poor poor POOR dear! She lays still for a few minutes and I examine her purple and haphhazardly bandaged face from afar. Then she starts moaning. A doctor walks by and she calls to no one, “I have to pee”. He cames closer to her and she says, “I have to pee, please take me to the bathroom”. Her accent is so clearly representative of a lifetime in Manhattan , I don’t know what else is. He says, “Hold on”. She grabs at his hand and says, “What!?”. He leans into her and half-yells what he had said in a very diffident tone. What an ape. She starts getting flustered and says, “I don’t want tooo die (dy-eh)”. Leaning in he says casually and uncharismatically, “You’re not going to die”. The word ‘die’ seemed to upset her and she starts to starts to cry in small spurts and repeats that she needs to pee. He ignores her and moves away. More people are brought in and she starts screaming, “I don’t want tooo dy-eh. I don’t want tooo dy-eh.” No one takes notice. So the nurses come back and I get lots of fun blood stuff and an i.v. I used to always faint whenever there was a needle about as a kid, but in recent years, I have been able to stop psyching myself out. I breathed and talked to the nurse. Anyway, I sat longer and decided that even though I wasn’t as sick as everyone else, nor as old, I would lie down, as I hadn’t rested in quite some time. (Again, sixteen hour days and such) Things happen and time passes and I am pushed from side to side of the room while new stretchers come and go. At one point I was right in the middle of the room and was continually pushed out of the way so doctors and nurses could scoot by. I felt kind of like I was in a rowboat. Finally, in my last position in the room, I am pushed to the far back. The old woman with the marred face, who I had learned through eavesdropping and overhearing, is 97 and was in a taxi with her girlfriend when it hit another cab and threw them into pain, is pushed beside me. She had broken her nose and her friend had broken her leg. A nice young woman had come in looking for her and had a permanent look of worry ironed on her face. She darted to and from the woman for the few hours I spent with them. She spoke kindly into Jeanette’s ear, as opposed to how the indifferent doctor had earlier. After she left, the old woman started screaming, “I want to die, please let me dye-eh”. This went on at shrill and steady volumes for ten minutes at a time. All the while I sat in my stretcher bed next to her, not knowing what to do. I looked at her stark white shoulder that was about 4 inches in diameter. She was so so so small. I looked to my left and smiled nervously at the woman bedded next to me who spoke no english and was in the e.r. because of some heart palpitations. Finally, after three and a half hours of waiting in this bed, I am handed my discharge diagnosis paper and given the ok to go. The paper reads: Prognosis: Gastreoenteritis (a virus that lasts two to three days). What a waste of time physically, but mentally what a social voyeur trip! I said “Buena suerte” to my non-English speaking bedmate and left the chilly madness for the street.


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