Sugarbabes

POST DOCTORAL FELLOWSHIP, UNIVERSITY OF PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA, USA.

A position is available for an enthusiastic and motivated post doctoral fellow to study dendritic cell biology in the simian immunodeficiency virus model of HIV infection. The focus will be to define mechanisms of dendritic cell loss in progressive infection. A background in cellular immunology is required; experience in dendritic cell biology and/or viral immunology is desirable but not essential. The laboratory is situated in the new Center for Vaccine Research and has state-of-the-art facilities, including 12-color flow cytometry and infectious cell-sorting capabilities. The University of Pittsburgh has a vibrant immunology community with substantial interests in HIV research and dendritic cell biology and therapy. The position is available for two years beginning June 2007. Interested persons should write by email to Dr. Simon Barratt-Boyes, BVSc, PhD, at smbb@pitt.edu with a statement of research interests, curriculum vitae and names of three references.

A comment a while back by Liz on motherhood shortly after her introduction to this "job" came back to haunt me after cleaning some stuff for my grand niece who has been staying with us for a few days whilst her parents are on a short holiday break.   Memories I'd shelved away in some of my recess came to home to roost and I just felt comfortable posting here as a blog as opposed to the forum thread following Liz's comment.

In the early stages of motherhood when I was contemplating returning back to work, I had to work out how feeding my little one would amount to.  Those of you that have danced this route will probably have your own stories to share no doubt.

Anyway, you'd think I was a pack of mule the way I headed back to work after my maternity leave.  I would sling an electric breast pump in a backpack over my shoulder, lift my baby in the two-ton car seat, grab a pack of diapers, clutch my bag under my arm and match off to daycare before going on to work.

The electric pump would whirl in my office attached to my breasts by vacuum seal.  By leaning the bottles against an arm, I managed to return phone calls, while my nipples - engorged like champagne corks - moved back and forth like pistons. 

The first time I heard the sould of the key turning in the lock, I crouched below the computer monitor, machine still blasting, shoulders bare and face flushed.  It was my manager in search of office supplies.

"I'm so sorry," she said, bowing out the door.

Eventually I managed to streamline the process to 20 mintues, three times a day.  I'd wash my hands with cleanser (a habit I'd picked up from my nursing days!), set up apparatus, pump both sides simultaneously, store the milk bottles in a cooler under my desk, and then clean the collection system. 

A wedding once forced me to take the whole operation on the road.  I brought only the essentials: nappies (diapers), strollers, toys, clothes, baby and a small manual breast pump.  (Isn't amazing how such a small person can suddenly have so much luggage to rival a grown up?)  On the way to the to the wedding, we dropped off our infant with a friend, before driving another hour to the church. Between the ceremony and the reception, my husband or should I say ex husband now, parked the car on a quiet street. 

I assembled the manual pump and shimmied out of the top of my dress, before my nipples leaked.  After pushing the plastic device stuck to my boob back and forth for some time, I got tired so my ex-husband took over operating the pump for me, bonding us for that duration - should've been life, but hey you can't have everything sometimes! 

I look back on that season as the Autumn I Pumped.  Eventually, I packed up the device for the last time and donated it to charity.  Decided returning to full time work was not an option for me and instead nursed my baby peacefully at home.  Eventually I was able to return to work flexible hours fortunately also getting a job nearer my house that conveniently enabled me to return home to nurse my little at lunchtime. breast feeding is not for wimps, and pumping is not for wussies!

Now that I look at my grand niece's bottles etc..., I remember with awe all the effort and devotion I put into pumping and breastfeeding my own kids.  I miss the way they would stay still in my arms and their quiet satisfaction while nursing, leaving me free to appreciate every inch of their warm cuddly bodies: and the contentment in their eyes. Bliss!

But feeling like a pack mule, and a dairy cow while pumping, I'll never miss that.  I guess each person has to find and do what they feel comfortable with in their approach to motherhood - there is no right or wrong way as we are all just learning the ropes most of the time.

This ought to be a template.

It has been said that the British do have a way with words.  Apparently this is a real-life complaint letter sent to NTL to their complaints department - though I have my suspicions its a merger of various complaints!  With hindsight it is funny to read, but as some of you may well be aware this kind of mental screw-ups are the order of the day!

Dear Cretins,

I have been an NTL customer since 9^th July 2001, when I signed up for your 3-in-1 deal for cable TV, cable modem, and telephone.  During this three month period I have encountered inadequacy of service which I had not previously considered possible, as well as ignorance and stupidity of monolithic proportions.  Please allow me to provide specific details, so that you can either pursue your professional prerogative, and seek to rectify these difficulties - or more likely (I suspect) so that you can have some entertaining reading material as you while away the working day smoking B&H and drinking vendor-coffee on the bogy in your office:

My initial installation was cancelled without warning, resulting in my spending an entire Saturday sitting on my fat *** waiting for your technician to arrive.  When he did not arrive, I spent a further 57 minutes listening to your infuriating hold music, and the even more annoying Scottish robot woman telling me to look at your helpful website......HOW?

I alleviated the boredom by playing with my testicles for a few minutes - an activity at which you are no-doubt both familiar and highly adept with.  The rescheduled installation then took place some two weeks later, such as a drill-bit, and his cerebrum.  Two weeks later, my cable modem had still not arrived.  After 15 telephone call, over 4 weeks my modem arrived... six weeks after I had requested it, and begun to pay for it.

I estimated your internet server's downtime is roughly 35%... hours between 6pm-midnight, Mon-Fri, and most of the weekend.  I am still waiting for my telephone connection.  I have 9 calls on my mobile to your no-help line, and have been unhelpfully transferred to a variety of disinterested individuals, who are it seems so highly skilled bullock jugglers.

I have been informed that a telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that no telephone line is available (and someone will call me back); that I will be transferred to someone who knows whether or not a telephone line is available (and then been redirected to an answer machine informing me that your office is closed); that I will be transferred to someone and then been redirected to the irritating Scottish robot woman... and several other variations on this theme.

Doubtless you are no longer reading this letter, as you have at least a thousand other dissatisfied customers to ignore, and also another one on of those crucially important testicle-moments to attend to.  Frankly I don't care, it's far more satisfying as a customer to voice my frustrations in print that to shout them at your unending hold music.  Forgive me, therefore, if I continue.

I thought BT were ***, that they had attained the holly piss-pot of god-awful customer relations, that no-one, anywhere , ever, could be more disinterested, less helpful or more obstructive to delivering service to their customers.  That's why I chose NTL, and because, well there isn't anyone else is there?  How surprised I therefore was, when I discovered to my considerable dissatisfaction and disappointment that a useless shower of bastards you truly are.  You sputum-filled pieces of distended rectum incompetents of the highest order.

British Telecom - wankers though they are - shine like brilliant beacons of success, in the filthy puss-filled mire of your seemingly limitless inadequacy.  Suffice to say that I have now given up on my futile and foolhardy quest to receive any kind of service from you.  I suggest that you cease any potential future attempts to extort payment from me for the services which you have so pointedly and catastrophically failed to delivery - any such activity will be greeted initially with hilarity and disbelief quickly to replaced by derision, and even perhaps bemused rage.  I enclose two small deposits, selected with great care my cats litter tray, as an expression of my utter and complete contempt for both you and your pointless company.  I sincerely hope that they have not become desiccated during transit - they were satisfyingly moist at the time of posting, and I would feel considerable disappointment if you did not experience both their rich aroma and delicate texture.  Consider them the very embodiment of my feelings towards NTL, and its worthless employees.

Have a nice day - may it be the last in your miserable short life, you irritatingly incompetent and infuriatingly unhelpful bunch of twats.

John.