I had the joy, absolute joy, of observing an ER nurse just about lose it and the poor pompous MD (who had left the room) was still clueless. I was in the ER with my dad and my sister. It was late. Dad had taken a tumble, hit his head and because he was on a blood thinner, he had to be checked out at the ER. This ER was in the same hospital we always went to. As we completed the history etc. I noted “stroke effecting speech.” They had a complete synopsis of dad’s history which I gave them as we checked in. Dad is getting tired and his speech was getting more slurred. My Dad was in work clothes. I was in something pretty casual and my sister was in the same clothes (business attire) that she had put on at 6 a.m. I am sure we looked pretty ragged. In waltzes Dr. Hotshot. He looks around and asks my sister and I who we are. My sister introduced us making sure to introduce me as “Dr. Lea (I think that was the first, last, and only time she called me ‘Dr.”). He then turns to my dad and asked what happened. Knowing how difficult it is to understand Dad, I start to answer. My bad. The doctor abruptly stops me and says, “I didn’t ask you. I want him to tell me.” In hindsight, I realize he wanted to hear dad’s speech as a part of his assessment. Dad begins. His speech is slow and very very slurred. Dr. Hotshot looks totally befuddled. Dad had gotten out about 3 sentences out when Dr. Hotshot stops him and abruptly asks, “Does he always talk like that?” My sister, without missing a beat, replies, “No, sometimes he speaks French.” As I am trying to not swallow my head to keep from laughing, I notice the nurse in the room has buried her mouth in her shoulder. Dr. Hotshot exits. A scan shows no damage. And, for the record, Dad never did learn to speak French. What is the author's nickname for the MD? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - Dr Lea - Dr French - Dr Hotshot
Dr Hotshot
For those of us who struggle with thoughts about our size and shape, sometimes we don’t like our bodies and our behaviour very much. It seems like an impossible task to transform our self loathing into self-love, but it is possible with these five simple steps. I started to write some examples of the self loathing dialogue I occasionally have in my head and I found I couldn’t do it. It felt as wrong as criticising my closest friend. I guess it goes to prove that the shift from loathing to love is not always huge and momentous, but subtle and gradual. When I look in the mirror and see a part of my body I don’t like, I run through these five steps in my head. This following example is the kind of internal conversation I might have about my belly. 1. POSITIVE INTENT (THE GIFT) Recognise the gift your body is giving you. My belly fat is protecting and cushioning my intestines and reproductive system. By having a higher body fat percentage my hormones are functioning as they should, enabling me to have a normal transition through perimenopause. I fit my skin and the wrinkly empty skin folds are gone. 2. FORGIVENESS Acknowledge the way you have treated your body in the past. I am sorry that I have been either starving you or stuffing you with toxic food and that I have accused you of betraying me. I now realise that my body is a reflection of my thoughts and beliefs so I was hating myself. Please forgive me for treating you so badly. 3. GRATITUDE Notice the miracles your body performs even though you have abused it. I am so thankful that even though I have treated you so badly you are still healthy and functioning. I am amazed at your ability to heal a lifetime of digestive and hormonal issues within a short amount of time. Thank you for your forgiveness and that’s it’s not too late to take great care of you. The narrator's self love probably lasted: Pick the correct answer from the following options: - the rest of her life - not enough information - several days - several minutes
the rest of her life
*Question*
Cerberus just stared at me. The dog didn't blink, he didn't pant, he didn't move. He just sat in the passenger seat as I drove, relaxed, mouth hanging slightly open, looking at me the way someone examines a menu but can't decide on the chicken or the veal. The desert sky was on fire when the city came into view. Cerberus turned away from me and stuck his head out from the side of the jeep, his giant tongue flapping in the eighty mile an hour wind while I dialed Luna's number. The dog pulled his head back in, then rested his chin on top of the overhead roll-bar, his fur blowing back along his head like the spines of a porcupine. "Hello?" "Hey, Luna." "Dingo! Are you there yet?" "No, not yet. I'm just outside the city." Vegas flashed and blinked under the starless sky. "You get in touch with Mr. Waciejowski?" "Sure did. He's at the Denny's near the Excalibur. He's trying to stay away from the blackjack tables." "Yeah, good for him. He has the box?" I could hear Luna stuffing something disgustingly healthy in her mouth. "Mmm hmm." "He hasn't opened it, has he?" She swallowed. "Nah. I told him it was filled with old photos." Cerberus shifted in the seat and scratched behind his neck with such force that the whole Jeep shook; a rather unsettling motion at 80 miles an hour. "Hey Luna, I've got a question for you." I looked over to see the dog's nostrils flared out in the wind while his lips blew back and revealed his frightening set of teeth. "This, uh, this animal spirit guide you had me try to find. Do they ever show up, you know, in person?" What does Dingo think Cerberus might need? Pick the correct answer from the following options: - not enough information - A dinner at Denny's - A box with old photos - A spirit animal guide.
**Answer**

A spirit animal guide.