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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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9:32 p.m. - 2010-09-30
Been kind of a wild ride. Yesterday's tests seemed to go off without a hitch. Once I got inside the hospital anyhow. Not overly familiar with the place I turned onto the first known side-street, parked in an associated medical building's lot and then tried five different doors before a kind nurse who was waiting in the parking lot directed me to the correct entrance. The hospital has been added onto at least six times and with the new wings, labs, etc all sprawling out every which way the actual front doors had been cleverly hidden and were 2 blocks over and around 3 corners from where I started. For the most part the service was quick and friendly. But even if my hair hadn't already been Viagra-ed into sticking straight up it'd have been standing on end just from the sheer terror of voluntarily committing myself to all the paperwork and testing deemed necessary to have my most personal bits hacked with scalpels and lasers come Monday. All my bitching about not having insurance for almost two decades, it also meant I never got near any kind of medical shit except the most basic and urgent. It seemed all sorts of folly to be signing organ donor forms and releases to keep the resident priests away from me and putting my name onto next of kin papers, medical proxies, and a ream of other junk, to say nothing of stripping off for strangers who shot me with radiation, drew litres of blood and then wired me up like Frankenstein's monster to see if I indeed had heart and brain function. I made it out of there in a much shorter time than I thought it'd take. Called Mick to tell him of my early parole and he invited me to visit him at work. Lovely. A fabulous day for a drive, I grooved on the glorious fall colors, took a couple of back road shortcuts (something which always gives me the smirks, ha ha on you, dratted newcomer city people!), and got to Uber Sports School's campus in record time. Whereupon I found out Mick had run over to the nearby deli and picked us up a picnic lunch as a surprise treat. We sat in the sun munching on sandwiches (and when we had privacy, each other) and I was happy. At one point the ex of Mick's who works at the school (and the one I save most of my spleen for, wretch that she is) went by with her students and I finally got my first look at the horrible Mags. That's her??? That stumpy, ridiculously ordinary nebbish who walks leaning forward with her head jutting out like a chicken looking for bugs to nosh on? This nobody with her atonal moose call of a voice, honking at the students to keep on the sidewalk and get their butts up to the tennis courts? This was Mags? It was. And a jolly mean laugh I had, too. Not that I'd ever doubted Mick's promises to me or for one second had qualms about his fidelity, but let's face it, when your guy still works in the same building and is in proximity to the ex he threw away 14 years on and just about killed himself to please even though in the end she gave Mick the heave-ho and went back her well-moneyed husband and the nice house and car that came with him, well, it grates a little. Let's just say my mind is at ease. At least when it comes to Mags and any potential threat she might offer to my security and happiness. Mick, himself, did a double-take when offered the opportunity to look at Mags then at me. He shook his head, snorted, gave me a big squeezy hug and then kissed me all over my face saying he was the luckiest guy ever. What had he been thinking all those years? I kissed him back and we finished our lunch. Before I left Mick smiled and said for however dumb his time with Mags had been, at least it had gotten him to the right place and the right time to meet me. And that was the last of the good bits for a while. I was home for a couple hours when the surgery coordinator for the zorch doc called. Um, there was a problem. What? Another one? Yeah. My EKG had been reviewed and it looked like I might not be healthy enough to get the stuff done on Monday. GAHHHHH!!!! I'll save you the blow-by-blow, but between the coordinator not being able to get through to my GP who would need to repeat the EKG and then sign off on my clearance and/or nix it and get me to a cardiac specialist, and the short time we had to work with, and my own maddened plotzing, and the coordinator's fury with the hospital's initial screw-up, the AWOL GP, and her own professional pride in providing stellar patient care, we had some big time tsoris. Finally this afternoon I got a slot with the GP and hustled over to that end of the county to plead my case. The GP (a nice guy with horrible lazy inefficient office staff who never answer the f-ing phone) went over my original EKG results with me. He could not in good conscience sign off on my surgery. Not with that fluky T-wave reading. I let out a strangled yawp and asked why, if I'd been putting in all that time at the gym for the last 10 months and hadn't dropped dead yet, was my heart now supposedly too dicky to withstand a relatively straightforward uterine procedure? One which didn't even require general anesthesia? Wait. What? I worked out? I lifted weights? I'd trotted over 100 miles on the treadmill and come to no harm? Yes! I hauled tons of weight. Clipped along at a 17 minute mile pace twice a week! No strange pain radiating down my left arm. No fainting. No palpitations. Well, shee-it. I must be pretty darn healthy, at that. Screw the weird T-wave. Maybe it's always been like that and just how my heart rolls. Go forth, my dear lady, and have your uterus fried. Come see me around Christmastime and get another EKG to cover my ass. In the meantime, good luck. Hope your miserable menstrual woes are taken care of with the surgery. Be well. Luv you, buh-bye! And so, the Sage, can get her baby bag blasted into oblivion.
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