power and priorities: what are Obama's?
(No, I'm still not officially back, but this was something about which I just had to post.)
Democrats are giddy at being back in power. But I will suggest that being in power is all about priorities. One should watch carefully to see what the priorities of the new administration are..
The above is from an piece in the Huffington Post by Ian Welsh, What Obama's Nixing Family Planning Money Tells Us
And what it's telling us is that Obama's priority seems to be bipartisanship at any cost.
From PlanetWire.org:
Obama was reported to have asked Rep. Henry Waxman (D-CA), who chairs the House committee with jurisdiction over Medicaid, to drop a provision that would enable states to provide family planning to low-income families without having to seek permission from the federal government. Other outlets said he was “distancing himself” from the provision as “not part of” his $825 billion stimulus plan.
According to the news tonight, the plan just passed by the House is, indeed, lacking support for family planning. And the Republicans didn't vote for it anyway.,
Providing these family services might not seem very important in light of the priority to restore some economic stability to our faltering capitalistic system. However, an increase in unplanned pregnancies in all of those individual "little pictures" would put a drain on the economy on its most fundamental level.
According to PlanetWire,
...the Guttmacher Institute, a nonprofit organization focused on sexual and reproductive health research and policy analysis, points out that Medicaid spending has long proven good for the economy. In its own study in 2007, the Congressional Budget Office found publicly funded family planning would save the federal government $200 million over five years by helping women avoid pregnancies that otherwise would lead to Medicaid-funded births.
Publicly funded clinics provided contraceptive services last year that helped women avoid 1.4 million unintended pregnancies that would have resulted in 640,000 unintended births and 600,000 abortions. Without these services, abortions would have risen by 49 percent, the Guttmacher Institute says in a statement.
Having worked for a Senate Majority Leader in New York State, I am well-aware of the horse trading that often goes on to get major legislation passed, and so I understand why Obama might have chosen to sacrifice a part of what he wants in order to get Republican approval -- not just for this stimulus package, but for other legislation still to come.
Well, you made your choices and took your chances, Mr. President, and it didn't work.
There's still hope, though. The Senate can put the family services request back into the stimulus plan legislation and then send it back to the House, where the Democrats can just go ahead and pass it again in the form in which they should have passed it in the first place.
Or the family services request can be incorporated into the next stimulus package, which is sure to come soon -- although some legislative bill writer will have to be pretty creative to figure out a way to include it in with shoring up the banking and housing industry.
Whatever the strategy, President Obama needs to put his power behind making the family services request as a priority.
deadly beauty
The ice storm hit us Thursday night, knocking out electrical power for a while. I didn't realize how bad the storm had been further north until I set out for Massachusetts this morning with the car radio reporting on the tens of thousands of New Yorkers still without power.
I drove across the swaths that the ice storms devastated, paralyzing the trees along the way with thick crystalline bonds. I wished that I hadn't packed my camera (somewhere in the back of my car that was loaded to the roof with boxes and bags of my life's accumulations, including my desktop, printer, and monitor and more cables than I could possibly have use for).
The landscapes I passed looked like stage sets for the Snow Queen or a scene from some alien planet. When I finally stopped at a rest stop, it was closed (no power). The other rest-stoppers were as unwilling as I to use the outdoor port-a-potties in the 15 degree weather. But many of them went back to their cars for their cameras to capture the bushes outside McDonald's, their thickly iced branches arched over like so many alien tentacles. The sun was out and the ice looked lit from within. I had no idea under which layer my camera was buried, so I passed up the chance for some amazing photos.
The news on the radio reported that some people will be without power until Monday. Several towns had curfews to keep people from driving over icy roads at night
It's a little chilly here at my daughter's, even though the heat is on. We have to figure out how to get more heat into my part of the house. I love it cold when I'm sleeping, but at the moment, I've got cold feet blogging.
I am worried about my (92 year old) mom -- not because of the cold (and my brother has a generator in case of power failure). I'm worried because the dementia is getting a lot worse, and she cries and wails almost all of the time. My brother doesn't want to sedate her, which seems to be the only thing to do at this point, as far as I and the doctor are concerned. I can't tell how much pain she's in, but when she moans, "oh..oh...oh....oh.." and seems to be in great distress, I can't help wanting to give her something more than Tylenol to relieve whatever it is, to ease her brain as well as her body.
But my brother won't let me, believing that there is no drug that will make her feel better but not knock her out. There might well not be. But I'd rather knock her out, take the pain and anxiety and fear from her face, give her some peaceful sleep, a respite from the demons of decay.
I can't stand to have to stand by and watch her suffer. And that's one of the reasons that I'm here and not there.
Our doctor ordered a nurse to come in once a week and see how's she's doing. My brother is objecting, for reasons that are only relevant to him and his demons.
Well, it ain't over til it's over, and I might have to get her out of there. But if I do, I will have to put her in a nursing home, and I don't think that she would survive very long there.
A former colleague -- one known for his series of extra-marital affairs -- once told me that he could live with guilt.
I don't live with guilt that easily.
it was only a matter of time
My mom fell down. I wasn't here. I was at my daughter's, when my mother tripped and fell. My brother was with her; he said she lost her balance (which she does occasionally) and fell in his kitchen. She has a big bruise on her bad shoulder. And, she says, everything hurts.
When I got back here the day after she fell, against my brother's wishes, I called an ambulance take her to the hospital. She couldn't walk unless we held her up, and she was in a great deal of pain. My brother wanted to take her to a walk-in medical office that has an X-ray machine; we've taken her there before. But I didn't want to take the chance. Suppose she had broken something.
The hospital X-rays showed no broken bones. A CAT scan of her head showed no pathology. It did show "volume loss," however. (Like that's a surprise??!!) The attending doctor wanted to keep her at least overnight because she was in danger of falling again. He wanted to hydrate her and give her a sedative (since she was agitated) and some tests, including blood. If she had stayed overnight, she would be been eligible for Medicare in-home help. My brother insisted on taking her home. So, we did.
She slept soundly that night and way into the day. Then she ate and went back to sleep.
And it has all gone downhill since then. She woke up at 3 a.m. this morning, incoherent except for crying that she wanted to go home and that everything hurt. I gave her an arthritis strength Tylenol, which seems to work well on her pain, and eventually, she went back to sleep. She repeated that scenario at 8:30 a.m. She gets up to eat something, and then goes back to sleep. While she's up, she's barely communicative.
The attending physician in the hospital gave me a script that says my mom needs one-on-one care 24/7 because there is a great probability that she will fall again unless someone has an eye on her constantly. .A nurse is coming tomorrow from the county's Adult Protective Services to evaluate her condition and her living situation. That is part of my strategy to put as much pressure on him as I can to hire someone to come in and help with her care while I'm going through my move -- and, of course, after.
But it is only a matter of time.
a buncha backs
Back #1: It was just a matter of time, I guess. Several nights ago, as I tried to lift my mother's legs back onto her bed, I felt as though someone shoved a knife into the right side of the lower spine. It was a long night for me, as I painfully made my way to a chair, only to find it hurt too much to try and sit. Lots of Excedrin Back and Body later, I'm relatively OK as long as I don't twist sideways or make a sudden move. I have a long history of problems with the right side of my body, including developing "drop foot" on my way to Harvard's first BloggerCon five years ago. And it's been all downhill from there.
Back #2: Despite the above, I wrapped an Ace lumbar support belt around myself, put on the cruise control, and drove out to see my daughter and family, who, I knew, would give me some TLC -- which I needed for more reasons than my out of whack back. Luckily, I had left my new quarterstaff there, and that surely came in handy for limping around the yard.
[Side note: Ronni Bennett has a section of her blog dedicated to the "Quarterstaff Revolution," and I will be sending my photo to add to the growing collection.]
Back #3: Last week, I took a little trip back in time and finally got together with my college roommate and her husband, who live about a half-hour's ride from here. Both she and her husband were good friends of mine all through college. She and I were the same size and coloring We shared a room and later an apartment right through grad school, and we also shared our wardrobes. She is still slim.. Our lives are about as opposite as possible these days, but the memories of all of the crazy college experiences we shared (including driving down to Daytona Beach for Spring break with three of our male classmates) are still ties that bind.
Back #4: Thanks to the Bush regime, this country is so democratically backward that we can only hope that the new president will have the strength and stamina to haul us back to where we belong. The latest indignity is PBS stalling about widely airing Torturing Democracy. It is, however, being aired by individual public stations, and you can watch it online.
old bones
She has old bones. And they hurt. Wrist, elbow, shoulder neck. Hip, knee, ankle, toe. They all hurt.
I give her two Tylenol, and she sleeps. I hear her whimper. "Please," she whispers. She's never been able to tell me "Please what?"
Her old bones hurt. Teeth. Fingers. Time makes old bones. Her bones have had too much time.
My bones are starting to hurt too.
waiting for Grammy
He's waiting for me on the steps to my new door to a new life.
The space for me at my daughter's is ready except for the painting. I am conflicted about leaving here, but, after eight years of the increasing burden of caregiving, I just can't do this any longer.
When my mother was my age, she was going on cruises with my dad, surrounded by couples with whom they had been friends since their dating days. My dad passed away in his early seventies. I want to be able to have some sort of life before my number comes up.
I imagine being able to come and go as I please, being able to sleep through the night, sitting outside on my steps in the morning and having a cup of tea in the sunshine. Here, I am not only sleep deprived; I am deprived of all of those small things that become big things when you don't have them.
I imagine being able to get off my anti-depressants, walk my way off my cholesterol med, throw away my muscle relaxant.
It's come down to my life or hers. My brother, who has control of everything here, will have to figure out how to get her the care she needs so close to the end of her long life.
I don't know how long my life will be. I can't give away what's left. Not any more.
And waiting for me with anticipation is my grandson, whose loving energy will help me overcome the guilt I will bring with me.
borderlines
Too often these days I feel as though I'm walking a tightrope. It would only take a little push to take me over the edge.
At night, when I can't fall asleep, I listen to books on tape that I download, free, from my local library. They are usually mystery novels -- situations so far removed from my own life that I can forget, for a while, what is stressing me out so.
Tonight, the "heroine" of the novel drifting in through my ear buds gave a clinical definition of anti-social behavior. I was interested to learn more about what that was, since I often feel I'm in it's presence.
Some googling, got me to this:
Anti-social personality disorder symptoms:
* Disregard for society's expectations and laws
* Unlawful behavior
* Violate rights of others (property, physical, sexual, legal, emotional)
* Physical aggression
* Lack of stability in job, home life
* Lack of remorse
* Superficial charm and wit
* Impulsiveness
Hmm. What if someone exhibits the above characteristics but on a less lawless scale? I guess that would mean they have "borderline anti-social personality disorder."
Or maybe what it really is, is just plain "borderline personality disorder." Sure sounds like it:
Borderline Personality Disorder (DSM-IV Personality Disorders 301.83[1]) (BPD) is defined as a personality disorder primarily characterized by emotional dysregulation, extreme "black and white" thinking, or "splitting", and chaotic relationships. The general profile of the disorder also typically includes a pervasive instability in mood, interpersonal relationships, self-image, identity, and behavior, as well as a disturbance in the individual's sense of self. In extreme cases, this disturbance in the sense of self can lead to periods of dissociation.
The disturbances suffered by those with borderline personality disorder have a wide-ranging and pervasive negative impact on many or all of the psychosocial facets of life, including ability to hold down a job and relationships in work, home, and social settings.
[snip]
This profile may be supported and/or corroborated by long term patterns of behavior as reported by family members, friends or co-workers. The list of criteria that must be met for diagnosis is outlined in the DSM-IV-TR
Yup. There it is. Borderline.
And here I am. Planning and packing.
a day in the life
from the (free) magazine for dementia caregivers published the Alzheimer's Foundation of America (careADvantage, Summer 2008 -- PDF) – an article by Richard Taylor, PH.D., a retired psychologist who was diagnosed with dementia.
When dementia enters a person's mind, when it enters dynamics of a family – of a husband or his spouse – how we communicate, why we communicate should/will shift.
[snip}
It should shift away from mutual understanding and agreement and toward staying connected, giving and receiving love, supporting each other in ways we never thought we would have to do. It gets less and less about about the facts and more and more about feelings. It moves (quite unfortunately) from looking towards tomorrow to looking back at yesterday. (Today just gets lost!)
As the disease progresses, the burden of adapting, of figuring out what the other person wants/means/understands shifts more and more into the minds and hearts of caregivers.
About seven years ago, when my mother was first diagnosed with dementia, I started reading and researching what would mean for both of us. Slowly but surely, I became the mother and she became the child. That was something to which it was really hard to adjust. Now, she calls me her sister. I don't try to correct her. It really doesn't matter. I'm her primary caregiver, and it's me to whom she looks for comfort and safety.
That's why my stomach is in knots at the thought of leaving her with my brother, with whom I can no longer share her caregiving because we disagree on so many things of importance in every day life. I can take her with me, but he has POA over her finances. Control is a big issue.
I don't know how he thinks he can take care of her without me and without paying to bring in qualified and caring help.
This is what today was like for me (other days, it's giving her a shower, changing and washing her bedding, planning and shopping for her food, doing her laundry, cleaning her floors [which I don't get to nearly often enough]):
11 a.m. - 2 p.m.: My shift. Mom slept until noon. When she got up, I made her lunch (of tuna and egg salad, which I made the day before during my evening shift and which she usually likes). She at a half of her sandwich, a plum (which, of course, I had to peel for her), a cup of her fake coffee, and a couple of cookies. I gave her her antidepressant and some Tylenol because her shoulder was hurting. I wrote down the meds I gave her on the log sheet on the frig. I noticed that she had a sore in one nostril, so I put some salve on it. By 1:30, she wanted to take a nap. When my brother came to take over, I said I thought we should take her to the doctor. He responded with a detailed explanation of what he thought the sore was, and I couldn't get him to agree that she needed to see a doctor. Not wanting yet another argument, I didn't make the appointment.
2 – 5 p.m: My free time. I went outside to water my parched tomato and other plants, and then I harvested some basil and parsley for freezing. I killed a lot of Japanese Beetles and had to throw away two of the tomato plants because they were totally dead. Then I went inside and sorted through stuff I could give to the Salvation Army. I answered my email, ate a bunch of delicious cherries, played Scrabble.com with a friend in Saratoga, and did a search for where I could take my broken electronic stuff for recycling. It turned out that there will be a special day in this town where I could do that. I shared the information with my brother.
My brother's shift. As far as I could tell, when she woke up, he gave her more to eat because she was hungry, and she went back to rest. He put the tv on and sat there tapping on his laptop. I stopped in at one point to use the stove to boil potatoes for salad. I came back to check the potatoes around 4, and he asked me if I made the doctor's appointment. I said I didn't because he didn't tell me that he agreed that I should do it. He blamed me for misunderstanding, and so I called the doctor, who, it turns out is tomorrow and all next week.
5 p.m. - 8 p.m.: My shift: I made chicken and mashed potatoes for supper. She sat in her recliner in front of the tv and ate some cantaloupe while I watched the news from the kitchen. My brother walked in and started to check what else was on television. He does this often, and I reminded him that it was my shift and everything was fine and I was making her supper and we were watching the news. He decided that she should have some root beer with her dinner (I would have given her juice). She ate her whole dinner and then I took her outside for a while to walk a little and then sit. While we sat, I cut and filed her nails. We went back in for dessert. She was just finishing her fake coffee and cake when he came back in – poked around in the dish drainer and chastised me for putting a fork in the place designated for knives. (I have learned just to say "umm" and not try to argue because it upsets my mom) I knew that she was getting a little sleepy, but she was sitting calmly watching the tv with me while I made some potato salad (which she likes), so I left well enough alone. He decided she should take her laxative and should lie down. So, he gave it to her and took her into her bedroom; but she sat up right away and started fiddling with the quilt. He started to be curt with her, which got her upset. I asked him to leave because it was my shift anyway. He finally left, and I had to sit down next to her with my arm around her for more than 20 minutes to calm her down. During that 20 minutes, I had to help her up to the bathroom three times. Her stomach hurt but she couldn't do anything.
She finally agreed to lie down and rest.
8-11 p.m. My brother's shift. My free time. I started this post, packed up some boxes of my stuff, fed the cat, got myself ready for bed, and watched my favorite summer tv show: Burn Notice. When I went down to start my shift, my mom and my brother were laughing and talking. She is fine when her caregiver is paying positive attention to her. She has agitated meltdowns when she is spoken to harshly or chastised for doing things wrong.
It is now 12:30 a.m. When my 11 p.m. to 11 a.m. shift started, I gave my mother a snack and a Tylenol, and then I helped her brush her teeth. She wouldn't put on her nightgown but wanted to sleep in her clothes. I asked her why. She said because she was afraid. I asked her what she was afraid of. She said she didn't know. She is often afraid but doesn't know why. I'm haven't gone to sleep yet because, if she holds true to form, until about 3 a.m, she will be up at least once an hour to go to the bathroom, and she needs me to help her.
She went to sleep without a fuss because her previous hours were calm.
I don't want to leave her where I'm not sure she will get proper care. She will be lost without me despite the fact that she spends as much time with my brother as she does with me. If she stays with him, he needs to bring in qualified care. And that means that he will have to spend her assets to do that. But he doesn't believe that I'm really going to leave; he doesn't believe that our mom's dementia is as bad as it is; he doesn't believe that he will have to bring in qualified care to replace me.
I can challenge his POA and take him to court if he fights it. A lawyer I know said that, if that happens, it could cost me as much as $10,000.
I can leave her behind, visit, and if she's not being properly cared for, ask Social Services to do an assessment.
Both her doctor and the hospice nurse (who will no longer be able to certify her for hospice services because there's no indication any more that she might be dying ) have said that she belongs in a nursing home where she can get 24 hour care.
Talk about being between a rock and a hard place.
But no matter what, I have to get out of here for the sake of my own health and sanity.
I did not post this lengthy piece just to vent and complain. This is part of my documentation of this unbearable situation that I'm in.
ADDENDUM: It is 1 a.m. The electric eye alarm that my brother installed goes off to let me know that she is up. She is sitting in bed. Where am I, she asks. You're in your bed, I tell her. Where am I, she asks again. I try to get her to lie down. She pulls at her sweater. Take this off she says. Do you want to put on your nightgown, I ask. Yes, she answers. And so we change her clothes and she lies down again. And so the night will go.
who am I?
That's the question she asked as she finally sat up in bed somewhere close to noon today. Usually she asks "Where am I?" Obviously, her dementia has gotten worse.
I tell her her name, in Polish, in English, her maiden name, her married name. By then she's onto her other worry -- "Can I go home now?"
It's night now. I was with her most of the day, since my brother had a dentist appointment. When I'm with her, I try to respond with care to every question, every mood, every demand. After all, her world must be truly terrifying. And I'm her anchor.
Except she's my anchor as well. I can't move beyond her peripheral vision, or she panics. She is downstairs now with my brother, banging her cane on the floor and calling for me. My contact at the Alzheimer's Association local chapter tells me that it's not unusual for dementia patients to latch on to the most trusted caregiver and constantly shadow them. That's what she's doing, and it's making me crazy.
I am holed up in my room, television blasting so that I don't have to hear her distress. I am eating cherries and chocolate chip cookies. My stomach is in knots.
Meds only seem to make her worse in other ways. She needs 24 hour care, and it's become too much for two people. But my brother wants her with him.
And I want to get away from this whole situation, even though she pleads with me: "Take me with you."
It's beautiful here on the mountain. But it's also a prison, especially for her.
"Where are the streets?" she asks. "Where are the families?" she wonders as she looks out the window at the lush trees and patches of blue sky.
It's hard to take her anywhere because she needs a toilet nearby. And her mood can go from placid to panic in a heartbeat.
She has lived too long. I hope that I am not still alive at 92. Or if I am, I still have my mind and my sense of humor.
Meanwhile, I'm sorting through all the stuff I brought with me to this place and downsizing. And packing.
a witch by a nose
One of the distinguishing characteristics of the Halloween witch is that bump on her nose. Well, not only do I have one; I have three. I guess that makes me officially a witch.
The dermatologist says they are "fibromas," which are benign kinds of tumors. Mine are under the skin, and so they are not really noticeable. I can have them "sliced off" (the doctor's words), but insurances don't pay for that because that's considered a cosmetic procedure. He says it's not a big deal to take them off, or out, or whatever they do to remove them. (But he'll have to cut the skin, so how is that not a big deal??)
When I first got them (one ages ago, one six months ago, and one last month) I thought that they were sebaceous cysts, and so I put hot compresses on them and they eventually diminished in size, but they never went away.
At the moment, they don't bother me, but I know they're there. I can feel them.
I can't worry about them now, however. In two days I'm leaving to head out to Massachusetts for my grandson's sixth birthday, and I'm going to stay over at least three nights.
So it will be just my brother and mother. The hospice nurse suggested a change in my mother's medication, so we're going to try that. Her extreme anxiety is overwhelming her. And us too. I guess it's her dementia getting worse. Between that and her increasing aches and pains, it makes it almost impossible to interact meaningfully with her. It's like trying to take care of a sick toddler.
I often wish I really were a witch so I could get on my broom and fly away.
he can't go home again
Myrln fidgets in the hospital bed in the emergency room, where they have him hooked up to various machines that beep and chime and whir.
"I just wanted a few more days. I needed a few more days. I needed time to think...." He looks at me with eyes angry and sad at the same time. He is back in the hospital after only two days at home from a week-long stay for tests and such. I have been with him for the past 36 hours, including this morning when we had to call a Rescue Ambulance because he couldn't breathe, even with an oxygen tank.
We have been divorced now for twice as many years as we were married. But time had healed our wounds and we had developed a friendly relationship.
"I will be eternally grateful," he wheezes, "for all you are doing for me now."
My eyes fill with tears. "No problem," I say.
"I have to tell you something," he says. "Even through it all, there was always a little love left."
"Yes," I say. "Me too."
And I'm crying and we are holding hands the way we once did long before I begged him to stop smoking.
Tonight he is temporarily hooked up to a respirator. b!X arrived from Oregon, and his sister and family from Massachusetts. He has not yet been awake for b!X and him to have a little time together. I hope he wakes, for both their sakes.
Meanwhile, I am back on the mountain with my mother, but I suspect will be be leaving again in a day or so.
They will take him off the respirator. He will either breathe or not. Either way, he won't be going home again.
Myrln, who once blogged here on Mondays, is my former spouse, the father of my children. He has inoperable lung cancer, which has spread to just about every vital organ.
just a clot of nirvana
I got linked to this from a newsletter I get, and I'm sharing it here because it is a description, by a brain scientist, of the kind of experience she had that others might attribute to sensing "god."
Still others, back in the days of "dropping acid," often described something similar.
And others, yet, tried to achieve it through Transcendental Meditation.
It's not in the mind; it's in the brain.
Listen in as brain scientist Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor tells of the spiritual experience she had during her own stroke. This euphoric experience transcends all formal religions and has been pointed to by quantum physics for years. Watch the video.
from here:
....she was conscious as she lost the left half of her brain. She remembers the day clearly, when she eventually curled up into a ball and expected to die. "I was shocked when I awoke later," said Taylor,... [snip] "I couldn't talk. I couldn't understand language. I lost all recollection of my life and lost all perception of my physical presence -- I was at one with the universe.
1) ??? 2) ???
(Monday is myrln's day to blog here at Kalilily Time.)
1) ??? 2) ???
There are two items that could use some attention since both involve our tax dollars and in some ways, they point out just how ignorant we may be about the use of OUR money by the feds.
First off, for the past how long, we've been endlessly bombarded about the primary contests being waged to help find our candidates for the next president. We can't escape the news about them -- which in truth is good. It reminds us that our government is our choice and ultimately our responsibility. So far, what we've been seeing is a number of senators and congressmen mostly out campaigning, trying to whip up votes. Day after day they're out "on the stump," working hard to make their points to the potential voters.
Only, when you look a little harder or just sit and think about it, you come to realize something they don't mention very much. Consider: for months they're out there somewhere in the country and moving from one locale to another, days on end. What they are not doing during this time and in those activities is their job. Remember, they were elected to go to Washington as representatives of their state or district. Yet here they are anywhere but D.C. -- while still getting paid, still getting health care (the best in the nation), and still piling up credits toward their pensions. All of it paid for with OUR tax dollars.
Doesn't bother you? No big deal? It's the process? Oh yeah? Try getting the same deal from your boss.
***
Item 2 is different. It's this: why do we have an FDA, a Food and Drug Administration? At least as far as concerns new drugs coming into the marketplace? Without FDA's approval, no new drug makes it out for sale here. Good idea, a watchdog for our protection against the release of dangerous substances. Oh yeah? Then why in this flood of TV commercials for new and existing drugs does every one of them finish off with someone sounding like a shady used-car dealer talking a mile-a-minute and warning us, almost unintelligibly he's talking so fast, about all the potential dangers of the product?
If it's so dangerous, why was it approved by the FDA for sale in the first place? Hm-m. Good question. Our tax dollars going to approve drugs that in normal use could harm us, even kill us.
A great service, huh?
