So then that week happened.
Three things you should never do simultaneously: cart someone off to the hospital (she's home now, she's fine), come down with a vicious and debilitating coldfluwhatsit, and run out of your happy brain pills. I only vaguely remember driving home from the hospital, and the next four days were a blur of Tylenol and graham crackers and Benadryl, oh god so much Benadryl, and putting chemicals up my nose and falling asleep to Olympic hockey I felt that bad I am not even kidding.
OH AND LET ME TELL YOU INTERNET. THIS WAS A CASINO DISEASE. SOMEONE'S MISERY MONKEY BIT ME.
Really: we hit the casino (which I'd have written about except: hospital, coldflu, etc) and then three days later, shabang, I'm taken out by this disease. A day later it hit Bleu. We've survived, and it wasn't nearly as bad as the Seabola, so... small favors?
But this is the best and/or worst part: the purveyor of my brainpills has a baffling aversion to technology. They categorically refuse to call things in, fax them, or in any other way communicate with the pharmacy. It is not the fifties anymore, people. I called the pharmacy in a sinus-clogged beg for help -- "well, they tell me I have to go pick it up and bring it in to you, but maybe if you guys call?" -- and I learned that (one) that would not help, and (two) there are lots of doctors who refuse to call things in. So it is now a requirement for any doctor I will ever go to in the future: do they call things in? If not, kindly bugger off.
bleukarma tells me that by 2012 everyone will be required to phone things directly to pharmacies, I assume to avoid tampering with script sheets by patients. I'm fair sure these few holdbacks will institute a new policy where you have to bring them a thumb drive and then they put the encrypted scrip on it and you take that in.
Yesterday was the most awesome hockey game ever except for that bit at the end. When Miller bonelessly hit the ice after the lights went on? Ouch, my heart. And did anyone else notice that Team USA was basically Team Guys Named Ryan? That amused me.
SO TO SUM UP: I got an alligator foot, I lost fifteen bucks in slot machines, I did another round of Waiting For Someone In the ER, I spent a week being a zombie despite having got my goddamn flu shot, my mom's latest health whatsit is dealt with, and I've got this brainpills thing sorted.
As for everything else -- normality will resume just as soon as I am sure what is really normal anyway. That may take a while. Or at least until tomorrow night, when Bleu and I will be hitting a hockey game and hoping desperately that we, in our weakened states, do not come down with Siberian Squirrel Flu.
OH AND LET ME TELL YOU INTERNET. THIS WAS A CASINO DISEASE. SOMEONE'S MISERY MONKEY BIT ME.
Really: we hit the casino (which I'd have written about except: hospital, coldflu, etc) and then three days later, shabang, I'm taken out by this disease. A day later it hit Bleu. We've survived, and it wasn't nearly as bad as the Seabola, so... small favors?
But this is the best and/or worst part: the purveyor of my brainpills has a baffling aversion to technology. They categorically refuse to call things in, fax them, or in any other way communicate with the pharmacy. It is not the fifties anymore, people. I called the pharmacy in a sinus-clogged beg for help -- "well, they tell me I have to go pick it up and bring it in to you, but maybe if you guys call?" -- and I learned that (one) that would not help, and (two) there are lots of doctors who refuse to call things in. So it is now a requirement for any doctor I will ever go to in the future: do they call things in? If not, kindly bugger off.
bleukarma tells me that by 2012 everyone will be required to phone things directly to pharmacies, I assume to avoid tampering with script sheets by patients. I'm fair sure these few holdbacks will institute a new policy where you have to bring them a thumb drive and then they put the encrypted scrip on it and you take that in.
Yesterday was the most awesome hockey game ever except for that bit at the end. When Miller bonelessly hit the ice after the lights went on? Ouch, my heart. And did anyone else notice that Team USA was basically Team Guys Named Ryan? That amused me.
SO TO SUM UP: I got an alligator foot, I lost fifteen bucks in slot machines, I did another round of Waiting For Someone In the ER, I spent a week being a zombie despite having got my goddamn flu shot, my mom's latest health whatsit is dealt with, and I've got this brainpills thing sorted.
As for everything else -- normality will resume just as soon as I am sure what is really normal anyway. That may take a while. Or at least until tomorrow night, when Bleu and I will be hitting a hockey game and hoping desperately that we, in our weakened states, do not come down with Siberian Squirrel Flu.