“Paging Dr. Page”



With my long list of challenging health issues, I have met my share of doctors over the years.  As we all know, doctors come in all shapes and sizes, with varying personalities, traits and…names.

Fortunately, I have had good luck with my doctors and have developed good relationships with most of them (particularly with my Dr. L – she’s amazing, wink, wink – hi Sue!!)  There have been a few that I would have preferred never to have met or that I wish I had poked in the eye with a cervical dilating tool when I had the chance, but most have been professional and pleasant.

What really peaks my curiosity when meeting doctors is, their names.  My question is, did they go into a specific specialty because of their last name or did they happen upon a specialty that also suits their name?

Take our very own local Oral Surgeon, Dr. Garlick.  Really?  As a little boy cursed with such a last name, did he dream of one day working with people’s mouths?  Did he set out to become the best oral surgeon around because of his name?

Dr. Blei-man, please could you explain to us when and why you decided to become an Eye Physician?  We just want to see, how this all came to be.

When visiting a Urologist, what are we looking for in this type of doctor?  Someone with a top-notch reputation and experience?  Someone who can treat conditions such as urinary tract infections,  incontinence, kidney stones, sexual dysfunction (male and female)…external genitalia issues?  Someone, whose name is…. Dr. Kick?  For real??  Mind you, he is a very nice man (and I did not have any genitalia issues...) but, seriously?

I don’t have a pet, well except for our Beta fish, Ron.  We used to have guinea pigs when the kids were little but they have long passed (the guinea pigs, not the kids).  But if I did have a pet, where would I take it to when sick? To our very own, Dr. Katz – of course!  He had to have decided to become a Vet at the age of 2 when he could say his name.  This one is a no brainer!

How about asking to see an Allergist for a rash on your head only to learn that the doctor who you have been referred to is named, Dr. Malpica (bad itch, in Spanish).  I am scratching my head as we speak (I mean, write),  just wondering, how and why?



Most of us as we approach our 50’s, have a certain procedure we should have done that we all prefer to a-void.  Lucky for me, I have already been probed twice in my 40’s and therefore, do not to have to add that to my to do list this coming September (although, I am due for a cleansing…hmmmm, maybe I will go to my local drug store and buy the liquid stuff anyway for ha, has).

Well, among the Gastroenterologists in the practice I go to, is one particular doctor named, Dr. Cooley.  Culo, in Spanish and Italian is the word for buttocks.  Did he not take a language as a youngster?  Couldn’t he have gone into any other specialty?



What other peculiar doctor’s names have you come across?



Play Ball!


My husband’s family watches, talks, breathes and dreams baseball, 24/7.

 My father in law started our town’s Babe Ruth League and ran the entire Baseball League for 60 years.  He had 6 sons and dreamed of one of them playing professional baseball.  

Well, none of the 6 ever did but his eldest grandson (my nephew), was drafted today in the second round, by the Detroit Tigers.  

At the age of 89, one of his dreams has come true.

Another example of the beauty and timeless nature of dreams.

No matter our age, we should never stop dreaming. 


How to Maste-rrr & E-speek the English Language

‘Sanks-God’ that I learned English at the age of 9.  The earlier you can learn a second language the better.  

Some of the known benefits of starting early include, getting higher standardized test scores (didn’t experience that benefit), higher confidence (ok, yes), flexing and exercising your brain muscles to give you a significantly larger density of grey matter (is that what’s clogging up my brain?) and developing a more natural native-like sounding accent.

In other words, if Spanish is your first language, learning English at an early age will ensure that you do not sound like Gloria from Modern Family or Jack Black in Nacho Libre.

I have developed a list of situations to avoid should you be one of the wonderful native Spanish speakers who did not get the opportunity to master the English language early-enough.  I sanks my mother for inspiring me to come up with this list.

1.  When attending church services, whatever you do, do not wish anyone any kind of peace.  No matter how much you try and how slowly you speak, you are going to end up wishing them, piss on earth.  When others shake your hand to say, Peace Be With You, simply reply by saying, You too.

2.  Never tell anyone if you have seen the movie, Meet the Fockers. Do not attempt to repeat the title.  Just tell them you saw the movie with Robert De Niro and Ben Stiller.

3.  When shopping for linens, make sure you know the store well.  Know what aisle everything is in so as to avoid having to ask an employee where anything is.  Particularly the bed shits.

4. When speaking, in general, try to smile as much as possible.  Even though you may be in a perfectly good mood, others might interpret your pronunciation of every single vowel to have an…angry tone. Perhaps the fact that you are yelling, might contribute to this misconception.

5.  If a storm is coming, particularly the windy rainy type of storm, do NOT refer to the actual name used to describe such storm.  Just say, a windy storm.  Otherwise, people might think you are forcing them to hugh-rry up.  In other words, do not tell your neighbors to run to the store to stock up on canned goods in preparation for the Hugh-rry-cane.

6.  There is no E in the word Spain.  Only one, in the word Speak.  Definitely only two, in the word Sleep. I know it is difficult to                  ‘e-stay’ on track with this rule, but try just saying the Sssss sound without that E.

The final and most important item on this list:

7.  Forrrrrr-get  all  about  de  list  above, and  e-say  whatever  ju  wan  tu  e-say.  Be  proud dat  ju  no  tuu  lan-guajes  and  make  de  oderrr  pipol  have  tu  under-e-stand  ju.   Ju  are who  ju  are.

Piss Be With Ju All.


The Swim to My 50s – WTH? What Gives?


Word has it that as we age, we tend to become more set in our ways.  Or maybe it is the fact that we do not care what the hell others think anymore and are too cranky to change. Whatever the reason, the end result is that we hang on to our routines for dear life because it feels safe and comfortable.

Time seems to be somewhat of an obsession with older folks.  They suffer from an uncontrollable nagging need to know what time it is, what time something begins, what time it ends, what time they need to leave, what time you are picking them up and what time you will be calling. And, even after you have confirmed the designated time at least 70 times, they ask you again.

I get it that our idiosyncrasies are only going to multiply the older we get.  However,  I was under the impression that as we aged, our “silly” fears and phobias would fade away into the night along with our youth and we would become fearless (or is it  the fact that we can no longer see or hear whatever used to scare us?).    

As I approach my 50’s, I am experiencing the opposite to be true.

Back in the 80’s when I worked downtown Boston, I was your typical city slicker commuter (yes, I wore my shiny white Reeboks to walk to the office and then changed into pumps once I arrived).  I lived in the burbs back then and took the commuter rail to and from work.  I spent at least two hours a day (on the good days when there was no train mal-function) on the train.  

I passed those precious commuting hours nodding off, drooling, checking out the cute guys in their suits, eavesdropping on other’s conversations, looking over my shoulder to see what my seat mate was reading – you know, the things one does on trains.  I was a happy, phobia- free train passenger.  The question I have is, what horrible traumatizing event am I repressing that is responsible for my latest phobia?

 I have developed an insane intense fear, of driving over train tracks.  We are talking, rapid heart beat, sweats, the shakes, having to close my eyes, wanting to call my husband to come get me and yelling for my mama to save me!  Just like that.  I now mourn the normal, happily driving over the tracks kind-of-gal I used to be. WTH? What gives?

Just look how intimidating trains can be!

Just look at how intimidating trains can be!    livinglaughinglosing.com

I do not know if the derailment that occurred a couple of years ago on the track I most often cross, is contributing to this phobia.  It’s not like I was on the train when it happened, or on the road.  To make matters worse, the last time I suffered through a cross-over, there was a small train maintenance car whipping by right in front of me on the track, without any warning.  No red lights flashing, gates or bells!   I am trying to deal with this disability…by going 10 miles out of my way to avoid any tracks but one always sneaks up on me.

Then, there is my fear of thunder and lightning to reckon with.  It is not an uncommon fear but for crying out loud, it has gotten worse!  My teens stare at me in disbelief.  They cannot watch their otherwise strong mother, turn into a pathetic being when there is a storm.  For some reason, my words of choice when I hear thunder are, Ay Ay Ay!  I close my eyes, cover my face and Ay Ay Ay throughout the whole storm.   Hearing the crackling sound of lightning hitting something near by, sends me over the edge.  We are talking, call 911.  I have also noticed that as I get older, the Ay Ay Ays… get louder.  Not a pretty sight.  WTH? What gives?

The final phobia I will discuss with you, before you un-follow me because I have completely scared you away, is not being able to touch the restaurant pagers they give you as you wait for your order or table.  No, no and no!  When the nice hostess hands me the pager, I immediately go into my, Don’t you (waving my Spanish pointer finger) be giving me that dirty, filthy, touched by everyone pager that vibrates – mode.  If I must take it, I use a haz mat suit napkin between my hand and the thingy.  If my husband is with me, I make him get contaminated. WTH? What gives?

I have never been a germaphobe and have not minded getting down and dirty (breaking a nail – yes, but not getting dirty).  It now appears that I have developed OCD.  WTH? What gives?  

Like I needed new reasons to dread turning 50.  

BTW, what time is it, what time are we leaving and what time are we getting back?




{A big THANK YOU to everyone who participated in Susie Strong Day}