I got into the doctor’s office at 9:00 yesterday. This was an “opening” they had, mind you, not just a “come sit in our office and wait until the doctor feels you’ve suffered a significant amount of time with the other sick people and will let you into the inner sanctum appointment”. I think I may have been better off taking a number. I wait… and wait…and wait… and finally get into the little exam room where I wait…and wait…and wait… *sigh*
After lots of thumping and breathing and listening and coughing (that’s just me!) the doc blows right past the chest troubles and goes straight to the diabetes. “Your numbers are still high”. Um…yes…
She sends me to the lab to have my blood sugar “officially” taken. (Excuse me, guess I forgot how to do it in the last 15 years…! Oh, no, that’s right – the lab has to have their cut of the bill, too…) WTF? Why am I getting a BRUISE from where you poked my finger? A BRUISE! Yikes! You are supposed to be the professional… I could have gotten blood out without that much effort! Yes, it’s still high. We visit a bit. The subject of Splenda (artificial sweetner) comes up and I tell her that’s the only kind I can have that won’t give me a migraine. She starts in on how Splenda isn’t much better than sugar, yadda, yadda, yadda…. Well, excuse the fuck out of me. First I have to give up Pepsi, now I’m supposed to give up Pepsi One? I think not, bitch.
At last, but not least, she decides to treat me. Ooooo…coool!
I’m getting antibiotics and an inhaler… oh, yeah, and she’s upping the diabetes med dosage. Now I must wait for the nurse to come give me a lesson on how to use the inhaler. I’ve not used one of these “powder” ones before – at least I’m hoping they are a little easier for uncoordinated me to use.
You got it. I wait. I swear, I thought the nurse figured I’d gone home. Another 15 minutes, at least.
At long last, she comes and teaches me. Yes, I can do this. Whoo hooo!
Out the door with only a momentary pause to re-schedule another appointment in a month. Now I must go see my local drug pushers and get my perscriptions filled. I walk in to see… a line… of old people. Ugh. Can this day get worse? I must wait to give the lovely pusher my paperwork. I explain how this one med is being increased, and I thought I’d just pick it up while I was there, even tho’ I wasn’t out of it yet. Oh, dumb, dumb, me. I slip into the magazine isle and look at the headlines… nope, nothing new. I look at the rest of the
crap stuff for sale in the store. Gee… nope. Nothing I want. I circle back to the pusher window only to be greeted by the 80-year-old woman they have working the cash register today. “Your name again, dear”… I reply with… my name… and she goes off to check.
Nope. Not ready yet. They’re still working on it.
The line hasn’t shrunk much… except maybe in height. I think they are more hunched over than they were when we began this journey together. Everyone who picks up their perscriptions must chat with the counter-lady. Everyone friggin’ one of them must ask the pharmacist a question. Stopping the progress. To a stand-still.
Now, not only is my chest hurting, my head hurting, and my poor stomache muscles are hurting (who knew you could hurt so many things just by coughing!) … now my back is beginning to scream. I don’t do well standing for long periods of time. I start the “mommy rock”. That’s what I call it… Those mother’s with small children can relate. When you are holding a child you can’t just stand there, you must rock, back and forth from one foot to the other. It’s a law of physics that a child cannot be held motionless. Well, after four children, I just do the rock subconciously whether I’m holding kids, puppies, or my groceries. I’m sure someone out there has seen me. Please pretend you don’t. It helps the back a little, but not a lot. Time is crawling. My stomach is growling now, after no breakfast (overslept after not sleeping all night – go figure) and my mornings’ adventures in medicine.
I just want to get my drugs and go.
Finally… my name is called. What? It’s not ready yet? It appears the insurance company doesn’t want me to have the one medicine that is being increased. They say I can have it in TWO DAYS, but not now. It’s too soon. The pharmacy is waiting to hear back from them. Oh, fer cripes sake! Just give me the others and I’ll come back for that one, if they’re gonna be that way… grrrr…
Another 10 minutes of
agony fun goes by and at last I get to deal with the troll behind the counter.
I’m free! I’m free! Lord almighty, I’m free at last!
I get in my car and notice my phone. I’d left it in the car during my doctor visit because god-forbid you should mess up someone’s pacemaker in the doctors’ office. I’d forgotten to pick it up when I went into the pharmacy. I glance at the screen… 11 MISSED MESSAGES… glares at me with accusing eyes. Yes, eyes. I can tell without even opening my phone that the eyes that are coming at me through the phone are none other than my Hubs’. I call… “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”… Yep, he loves me.
I find out he’s called my office, my daughter, last-but-not-least the doctors’ office (she left 2 hours ago…BULLSHIT!). I agree to go truck corn with him instead of going back to work. I call work and let them know he’s not crazy (yes, they know him and figure it’s all fine). I don’t bother to call back the doctor, although she ends up calling me twice later that afternoon to “tweak” things a bit… I call daughter who promptly blurts out,
“You’re ALIVE!… and when is Dad putting the GPS bracelet on your ankle?”
She has a way of summing things up.