Not the Mulberry bush exactly, but round and round the medical system tuckers me to a frazzled piece of limp hemp rope. Laszlo, my latest nomination for canonization again escorted me to the doctor to arrange for my pending surgery, taking a day off to do it.
Deja vu, we were there at 10am only to find the herds already there were like those at a close-out sale at a Gucci store. One woman told him she had been waiting for over an hour and a half. Couldn’t she just round it off to two hours for simplicity?
Ron joined us this time for the fun and games to lend support, but jetlag still has him in the vice, so he petered out early. Considering we were waiting for the urologist, this made perfect sense.
We had to wait for the magic window to open when the nurse accepts the medical cards and writes your name in her book. When she appears at the open door, she is as off limits as the safety zone of home base in a game of tag. When she does open the window, I think of the groundhog seeing its shadow; there will be six months more of waiting in line.
Finally, it was our turn. We spent ten minutes with the doctor while the nurse printed out another ream of forms. There was no interaction with the doctor, the nurse was the star today. With our load of recycled trees, I learned that this doctor was not, I repeat, was not performing my surgery. We had to go to yet another doctor at the hospital who would perform the surgery.
Using my last ounce of mental reserve, I followed Laszlo as he led the way to the hospital to find the deparment we needed. The only thing that keeps me sane is repeating mentally, “This is going to make a great blog entry.” I will continue this in the next post.