This article presents an interesting idea:

And it looks like Kerry is already trying it out on the stump:

The point isn't to rally the base so much as it is to point out what is already obvious to everyone with a television, namely, that Iraq is a mess. The question should be how are we going to get out? But the question that will get John Kerry elected is who got us in this mess in the first place. And for most Americans, the answer will be George W. Bush...which is why Kerry will win. Even if he didn't make the right choice at the time war was looming, Kerry has been the first to redefine the terrain and say that right now, we're no longer winning in Iraq.

Will there be enough time for this message to sink home? I think so.

Oh, man.

This is creepy. In a good way. And very addictive.

You know those slightly-dorky people, the ones who take pictures constantly? Who always have a camera? The ones you always invite to hang out with you, well, because you know they'll be only too happy to snap a few shots of you with your friends? As camera phone become higher end, I predict everyone is going to become that sort of person.

In a nice way, once that happens, blogs like this one will become obsolete. Because the chance of things like this remaining anonymous will drop to zero rapidly in the next five years. Which is a good thing. In the meantime, enjoy.

First, an offer you might want to refuse:

Yes, the site in question is actually selling these guys. Go pick yours up today!

Second, be sure to run out (virtually) and also snag the brand-new firefox.

Third, my plans for this evening include the perfect movie flow...from Kevin to Fincher, with others mixed in-between. There are few things more perfect that working one's schedule so that all parties and all activities can take place as they should. The solution, it appears, is to simply do away with sleep. If someone had a pill for me to get back those hours each day, I'd be the first in line. Given Brad's three o'clock posting, perhaps he knows of a good distributor?

My recollection of Helena's stalker seems to mesh with hers...the not-so-suave prince-in-question's foester request must have been removed at his desire, I believe, because my requests are still outstanding from months ago.

So the guy in question must've gotten the hint.

This is why I feel that Brad's woman must've composed a spirited reply, because her testimonial to Brad is still up. Unless she's forgotten that as well. I will quibble with Brad's description of their breakup, if only because at said party (the one where H noted that the mystery woman came alone), the woman chewed my ear off for an hour about how Brad wasn't calling her anymore. It was clear to me then that

• she had residual issues with Brad
• her voice would never grow on me

I would conclude by saying that the following day's lunch, with both Fincher and Heath in attendance, was probably penance enough for Brad.

Royalty is overrated, in my opinion. Always go for the west-eggers over the east-eggers, right?

Well, I agree with Helena. Writing back wouldn't be a smooth move. Besides, I think Helena can actually top you, Brad, in terms of awkward foester stories. At least you dated the person in question...

...which brings me to the mystery woman herself. I thought I knew who it might be, but her own words undermine my case. Her missive sounds as though it were composed when she was running on complex carbs, though, so perhaps one needs to read between the lines a bit. She doth protest too much, in my mind.

For fun, I'm trying to imagine her speaking the lines above. If I'm correct (feel free to chime in, B) then that should be enough of a hint alone.

I support Smokefree DC. So should you.

Harold Brazil and Sandy Allen (both defeated yesterday) were key players in denying the smokefree initiative this year. Hopefully with new leadership, we can push DC to be a cleaner, more pleasant city.

The Post nails Souder.

So does Toles:

At least the election went the right way. Hopefully Kwame Brown (who I voted for) will be better than the awful Brazil. I'm not that worried about Marion Barry, given that more people voted for the 3rd place at-large challenger than voted for Barry. Given that less than 5,000 people in DC voted for Barry, I don't think he could mount any serious mayoral challenge to Williams.

Jill's story begins Friday evening.

As I mentioned below, I was originally supposed to "do something" with her on Friday. But before I get ahead of myself, let's go back farther, highlander style.

Originally Jill came back from her hometown, all feverish and tired. This condition didn't change for a week, so after cajoling her for several days to go see a doctor, she ended up calling the phone number on her CareFirst health card and was told by a registered nurse that she just needed to rest and drink fluids. She was waiting for her health insurance to provide a doctor, but her condition didn't seem to be improving, so I worried her enough until we agreed to go to the emergency room Friday night. I had a dinner with Gwyn and friends scheduled for eight o'clock, but I figured we'd be in-and-out, with the ER just giving Jill some pills to pop and telling her to rest up. Unfortunately, due to my five-hour conversation with Microsoft, I was running incredibly late, so Jill suggested we go Saturday morning instead of Friday. Later, I'd realize this was a mistake, but at the time, it made things much smoother.

I had dinner at Meze, which was enjoyable, save for the worst service I'd ever seen at any restaurant. Essentially, half the table ordered before our waiter disappeared. 15 minutes later, he returned to take the rest, resulting in an odd food schedule once dishes began to appear.

The next morning, in a moment of weakness, I suggested Jill skip the hospital until the afternoon. (I kept being worried that we'd show up at the ER and she wouldn't have a fever and they'd let her go.) In a stroke of luck (good? bad?), her fever climbed and we went to Howard's emergency room.

Once there, I sat outside for an hour, until Jill texted me to say she would be awhile. I went home, did a few things, then returned about when I expected her to emerge. Naivete, to be sure. Upon my re-arrival, I asked to see Jill and was shown into the ER. Jill told me she'd already been hooked up to an IV, x-rayed and that her doctor was going to tell her what the deal was in a minute. Minutes ticked by, but no doctor. I told Jill that the only bad thing in the hospitals I'd been to was when one had a bad nurse try to draw blood, and miss a vein. I told a few other stories about the multiple times I'd visited the ER. Apparently Jill had only been in a hospital one other time. I expressed surprise.

When her doctor returned, she said that Jill "had a big pneumonia in her left lung". Jill and I both looked blankly at her use of an article. So she said, "you know what a pneumonia is, correct?" We said yes, now that we understood what she was talking about. The doctor said they needed to take some blood and then she would go upstairs.

It dawned on me for the first time that they were not going to let Jill go.

With the realization that Jill was going to be hospitalized for a few days slowly sinking in, a new doctor from the blood lab came by to take some blood. He carefully placed all of his bottles and equipment down on the counter next to Jill, and began to open them. A few minutes later, the male nurse that had started Jill's IV came by to ask if the doctor was finished. The doctor replied that he hadn't begun yet. The nurse expressed slight irritation.

There wasn't enough room for the doctor and myself in the ER pod room, so I sat at the entryway, watching as a female nurse wheeled an elderly woman up to a phone to make a phone call. As I sat, my head bobbing between the incredibly slow doctor and the elderly woman, I saw the nurse take the phone number down and smile.

"This phone number...it has too many numbers in it" she said. The lady grunted. The nurse pressed her again, looking up momentarily to smile at me. I smiled back as the lady continued to insist the numbers were right.

In the meantime, the male nurse came back to ask the doctor if he was finished yet. This time, the doctor has a needle out, and was just about to stick Jill with it in the crook of her elbow. He replied, annoyed this time, that he wasn't finished.

I looked back to wheelchair woman, talking to a different male nurse. This nurse handed the lady a few pills, and then said, "Don't play me like that". My attention focused on the woman for a second, and when I looked back at Jill I noticed the doctor had pricked her.

He missed.

The slow doctor then began to take an agonizingly long time, pushing the needle around the interior of Jill's arm. Jill was stoic for awhile, but as the process wore on, began to become agitated. I immediately regretted telling her the story of the bad blood nurses. Finally, the doctor gave up with the first arm.

I looked back at the elderly woman (I needed some levity) and noticed two other nurses coming by her. She started to get quite angry that no one was willing to give her a piece of paper saying what the pills they had given her contained. The two nurses tried to be rational, but the lady remained steadfast in her obstinance. Finally, the cool male nurse who had been helping Jill leaned over the counter and said "Give the lady the PDR. Yeah, the whole thing..."

The slow doctor, meanwhile, had set up shop on the other side of Jill. She and I were both clearly annoyed that he had put her through so much only to give up. The cool nurse walked up, noted that the doctor was still not finished, and decided to draw some blood from her IV. He did it in a few seconds, and then left just as the slow doctor began to try Jill's other arm. I walked into the pod room to hold Jill's hand just as the doctor inserted the needle into her left arm.

He missed again.

I winced. Much like the previous time, instead of the quick prick method I'd always seen good nurses use (you stab in once and hit the vein or pull out completely), he favored an approach where you stabbed in, then "explored" around with the tip of the needle once inside the arm. In addition to being basically useless, it caused extraordinary amounts of pain. I looked at Jill, who was trying to hold up despite the obvious agony. I felt tingley all over, and wished I could yell at the slow doctor to just pull out and give up. Some spots appeared in my vision.

I passed out.

The next thing I knew, I was lying face up on the floor of the pod room. The cool male nurse and another male nurse helped me up. The doctor yelled at me to get out. I could see very well, and sat down outside the pod room. The male nurse said he'd bring me some oxygen.

Later, I found out, Jill was only dimly aware of me crashing down until she heard the noise and saw the room filled with nurses. In a bit of good luck, the slow doctor immediately pulled the needle out of her, and a few minutes later, the cool nurse walked over, stuck her once and finished the job in seconds flat.

I was unware of this, however, as I sat outside the room, getting high on 02. After a few minutes, I realized that my vision was blurry because I had knocked one of my contacts out when I fell down. I was too sheepish to demand to be let back in because Jill's doctor emerged a few minutes later and said "you cannot come back in", followed by "why are you on oxygen" as she ripped the o2 off of me. Later, the nurse who got me the oxygen came by and said I should go back in. I snuck inside, checked on Jill, then bent down to look on the floor for my contact lens. I found it, stuck hard and fast to the floor, near where my head hit the ground. With the help of a little water, I had it loosened and in my eye in no time.

As we sat in the pod room, waitng to go upstairs, the wheelchair lady came into vision. The cool nurse had, indeed, found a copy of the Physician's Desk Reference and handed the huge tome to her. She was busy flipping through the pages, attempting to find the pills she had been given (and refused to take). Each time she identified a drug, a nurse would come over and say something like "no, that's a heart drug...sorry...you should keep looking!" in a patronizing way. It was the only funny thing going on in the entire ER pod.

It was almost three o'clock before we finally left the ER (we'd been there since nine in the morning) and were transferred to the infectious disease unit. Once there, the real adventure began...

After getting settled into the room, I told Jill I needed to run out and snag something to eat. A scant ten minutes later, I was back at her room, but the first of several new doctors had arrived, so I waited.

The first doctor was, how to put it...crazy. After looking through her information, he concluded that Jill might have tuberculosis. The implications of such a diagnosis were severe: Jill would need to go into an isolation room, and would have to provide three samples (all of which would have to test negative for TB) before she could be released. Based on his diagnosis, Jill would have to move to a new room. A female doctor dropped by next, to go over (again!) all of Jill's vital information. A few hours later, at six, we finally were moved to the isolation room.

Next door.

The only real reason it was an "isolation" room was that it had a negative-air-flow HEPA machine in it. Oh, and people needed to wear masks inside. This latter item wasn't much of a problem during our stay, however, because most of the day no one ever dropped by. Meals were consistently late (but always followed, punctually with the statement "well, we ordered you a meal...why didn't you ask about it earlier?" as if Jill and I knew the meal schedule for the hospital.) until her final day, and each time I emerged from her room to ask for her nurse, a large complicated procedure fell apart. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Once in the isolation room, Saturday night seemed to go smoothly. I was all set to pack up and leave late, when a strange tall nurse appeared, demanding to get another blood sample. Not wanting to pass out again, and sensing Jill's desire not to have to be stuck yet again by someone who seemed clueless as to why or where the blood was being drawn, I asked to see the crazy doctor. The nurse said sure, that he was outside.

After walking outside, I spoke to the doctor, who said Jill's blood was alkalitic, probably because of her increased heart rate. (Andromeda strain...anyone? Maybe she should've just started drinking heavily to lower the ph...) I asked what the blood gas test would show and result in, and the doctor replied that if it was normal, nothing would happen, but that if her gas was still alkalitic, he would give her a sedative. I replied that if he was going to give her a sedative...but the doctor interjected to say that was a last resort. I could tell Jill's heartbeat and pH has risen in tandem the moment the nurse walked in saying he wished to take more blood, but I walked back with the doctor to her room, saying she didn't want to do it. At the threshold, the doctor backed down, saying it wasn't really that important. I announced the news to Jill, and waited just long enough to ensure no one else tried to sneak in.

At two in the morning, safe in my bed, Jill called. They had come in the night to get blood from her. I was furious, but there was nothing I could do since she told me after the fact.

I arrived Sunday morning, NYT and WaPo in hand. A few minutes after I arrived, a nurse came in to say she needed to take blood from Jill. I asked why, since they had come last night. The nurse replied that they had come last night for blood cultures, not for blood gases. Jill bit the bullet, blinked, and the nurse had already tapped her system. In a few seconds, it was all over, once again demonstrating the gulf between nurses who know what they are doing and those who don't.

The efficient nurse got the day off to a good start, although we saw very little of anyone else for the entire day. Before I arrived, apparently Jill's actual doctor (the one on her armband) had shown up with a posse of residents to look at Jill. By this point they had pretty much ruled out TB, but were keeping her in isolation. Still, each time a nurse came by they found enough energy to comment, "you have a fever" as if we didn't know. I kept wanting to yell "Hey, she had a fever for eight days which is why we checked into the damn hospital in the first place" but I kept my mouth shut.

Later in the day, one of the 'rents dropped by (you can guess which one) to check Jill out. He talked to Jill for a bit, then we had lunch from Popeyes in the Howard University Hospital main entrance. As Jill would comment later, it was actually nice to have a "grown-up" show up at the hospital. For some reason, be it the bad food service, or the later shenanigans, the whole time it felt as if Jill and I were two kids in a hospital. There was no one else but us there, which was odd. Anyway, eventually my dad departed, and I went back to the room to hang out with Jill. One of her doctors had said he had ordered a chest x-ray for her in a few hours (he said this at 9:00 in the morning) but my dad couldn't stay for it. The doctor at the time was the first one who seemed knowledgeable and friendly, so hereafter he will be referred to as the "nice" doctor. By this time it was three o'clock. The rest of the day passed by fairly uneventfully, save for a strange phone call from someone who had a wrong number.

Oh, and the ice incident. When Jill had run out of ice earlier, I had filled up a cup of it. A couple hours later, a nurse came by with a bag full of ice. She left it in the sink. Since no one could wash their hands in the sink, I put it on the sidetable and left it there. A few hours later, it melted and ended up spilling onto the floor. I walked outside to the nurses station and asked for a nurse to come clean it up.

Fifteen minutes passed.

A nurse came in to take Jill's blood pressure. When she saw the water all over the floor, she said, "Oh!" We explained and she said she'd take care of it. A few minutes later she brought a few sheets into the room and threw them on the puddle. After she took Jill's temperature and blood pressure, she said she's sent someone in to take care of the puddle/sheets combo.

Fifteen minutes passed.

I walked outside to the station and complained again about the water. The nurses said that they would call housekeeping.

Fifteen minutes passed...

I opened the door and saw a housekeeping lady standing outside. She said she'd be in in a minute.

Ten minutes passed.

Jill asked what was going on. I popped my head out and discovered the housekeeping lady had transformed into one of those Intel Inside clean room bunnies. Head to toe, she was covered in plastic with a transparent face mask. Five minutes later she entered the room, mopped it completely with some sort of super-pine-sol, and disappeared. Jill would later say the smell made her teeth hurt. I was just happy the mess was gone.

I had planned to have a cookout on Sunday, and so had marinated four burgers in advance. When I finally returned to my house, I had every intention of watching the Raven's game I had TiVo'd earlier and having two burgers. I discovered that my TiVo had:

1) not recorded the game 2) no way of easily telling it to record all future Raven's games

I was annoyed, to say the least. So I fired up the grill and ended up eating two double cheeseburgers. Mmm. I wondered if Jill had ever gotten her chest x-ray ordered at 9 the previous morning by the nice (not-crazy) doctor...

Monday morning, bloated, I rolled into the hospital at 9, after e-mailing my office to say I wouldn't be in. The security guard demanded I show him a visitor pass (I had blustered my way through every previous time) so I went back to the front desk where they informed me visiting hours began at 11. So I said I had an important package for Jill. They called up to the nurses station and (surprise!) were put on hold. Ten minutes later, steaming, they got in touch with the nurses station and told me I could go up, but only to "drop off" the package at the nurses station.

So I went upstairs, walked past the nurses station, and went inside the isolation room. Jill told me that the previous night, she had had an x-ray taken at 2 in the morning. She also informed me that her fever had broken and that she was feeling much better. Filled with the hope she could get out, the hours passed quickly. The morning was basically uneventful, until 11:30. Around that time Jill's IV bag ran out of fluid and began to make beeping noises. It had done this several times in the past, and it simply needed to be replaced. Jill pressed the call button on her bed to get a nurse to come by and fix it.

Fifteen minutes passed.

The noise continued unabated (it was quite loud) so I decided to go outside and get a nurse to replace the IV. Unfortunately, I grabbed one of the nurses who took blood pressure readings. He came in and mashed a few buttons on the IV machine. We told him she was out of fluid. He said he'd go get some.

Fifteen minutes passed. A red light on the machine began to flash, along with the message "Hold Time Exceeded".

I walked outside, and saw a doctor. I asked if she was, and she said no, she was a social worker. She asked me if I came out of the isolation room. I said yes. She said I wasn't wearing a mask. I said yes, that's true, but that the IV machine was going nuts. I walked away from her and up to the main nurses station. I finally found the crazy doctor and told him what happened. He said a nurse would be in to see us shortly.

Ten minutes passed.

Finally, a nurse came in to replace her IV bag. But she only removed it, turned off the machine and disconnected it from Jill entirely. An hour later, she showed up with a full IV bag and a smaller antibiotic IV bag. She hooked Jill back up (who was growing weary of being able to move her arm normally after 3 days) to the machine, which seemed to be proceeding normally, albeit a bit fast. Jill complained that her arm hurt from the flow, and I mentioned that after the antibiotic bag was empty, that the rate would slow down. The normal flow rate had been 100ml/hr, but the antibiotic bag was going in her at a rate of 250ml/hr.

After twenty minutes, Jill asked me to go outside and get something to prevent the pain. I did so, and ran into another annoying woman who complained I wasn't wearing my mask. I wanted to explain that if I was going to get sick with "TB" that it would've happened sometime in the previous WEEK Jill had been home, but I kept my mouth shut and fumed. The nurse at the nurses desk said she'd get Jill some Tylenol.

Fifteen minutes later, Jill was still in pain. But at that exact moment the nice doctor appeared to tell us that Jill could go home. We were overjoyed. We discussed the discharge and what needed to be done and then the nice doctor left. Five minutes later, while Jill was having her temperature taken, the crazy doctor dropped by to tell us the same news. Now that she was free to go, I could flaunt not wearing a mask in front of everyone to boot!

After everyone departed, while waiting for the discharge papers to arrive, Jill's antibiotic IV bag ran out, and the machine switched to the primary bag. Given that the flow was at 250ml/hr, she was looking forward to this drop in speed. So it was somewhat surprising when the flow increased to 500ml/hr. Or, in other worse, a full liter of fluid every 2 hours!

I tried to hide my alarm from Jill, failed, and walked outside to find the nice doctor. I explained the problem and rather than say "a nurse will deal with it" he immediately walked back with me into her room and lowered the flow himself. A disaster averted, at the very edge of success.

Jill got her IV unhooked, changed into her street clothes, and we headed to the grocery store for some celebratory food. Our long nightmare of a weekend had finally come to an end.

Jill is alive. She does not have TB.

I'll post a much longer update later, but work is super-busy right now.

Someday, hopefully, perhaps today's events will seem amusing. Tonight, however, it does not. Just like the last ten minutes of a movie can ruin it, the last hour of this evening pushed the day from awful/funny to just plain awful.

Everyone should wish Jill the best, regardless.

I'll explain when things seem less better. Hopefully that will mean tomorrow.

I was on the phone with Microsoft for 5 hours. My problem still hasn't been resolved...and I've stayed two of those hours past when I get off.

Now I've blown off something important, I'm late to a dinner engagement, and I'm in a bad mood all around. All on a Friday evening.

Every day, Kerry needs to do this. It's simple and effective.

If you like the way things are going, vote for Bush. If you want more, if you think America can do better, vote for Kerry. That's an easy choice. And one that he needs to hit home Every Damn Day.

I like fighting Kerry. Especially about such easy issues as the assault weapons ban. It's a softball. Overtime is another easy target. And health care, of course.