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I am very comfortable in my black and white-striped Fila warm-up suit. Very.
That being said:
It's been a grey day. Abigail slept w/ me last night. I fell asleep, my body in a curved C-shape around her tiny, fragile body 'round 3 a.m., then jolted @ 6 to see if she was breathing...instinctive and in a panic, like the daddy of a sick baby...
I was the daddy of a sick baby...
Abba, she could barely walk, or move. She'd have no part of food n' water. Part of me wanted to prolong the inevitable--keep her alive for my own selfish reasons; the other parts wanted that dreaded hour of noon to approach...just to know she'd no longer feel discomfort and misery...I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't look at her.
And, I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to the vet w/ my mother and walk into that room w/ her, in her carrier--which looked so much like a coffin when she was carted out of here to the car @ 11:45--I punked out on my pussycat.
So, mom took her.
I showered, got dressed, and went to my doctor. The office is open on Saturday for 'emergency" visits, 9-12. I've been having an awful problem w/ my lower back for over a month now, and it's to the point where sitting, standing, or lying down is painful. I'm 24. This ain't right.
I called the office @ 9:30, the receptionist chick put me on hold for 10 minutes, then came back and said: "so, what's the problem, sir?" I explained my pain in a gentlemanly manner, despite the fact she was a snotty ebonic-"speaking" cunt. She says: "Let me take your phone number, and we'll call you right back. Stay by the phone".
An Hour and 15 minutes later, no callback. So, I push redial and spit: "Uh, I'm still waiting for your call, hon. Can I come in or what?"
"Nobody called you? Uh....Uh....Uh.....yeah. Come down. We're open 'til 12".
It was quarter to 11. Mom had to take Abigail to the gas chamber, and so Gran had to collect me and take me down.
I got there @ noon, on the fuckin' dot. The ghetto receptionist was in sweats and Garfield t-shirt. My doctor, Dr. Bordowitz, was literally waltzing out the door--ON HIS LAST DAY AT THE PRACTICE--w/ boxes and people helping him. Then, off he went--in a sea of "We'll Miss You" balloons, in his black Mercedes. The receptionist says: "We'll have to change your Primary Doctor", and gives me a chick "doctor"--who just happens to be a pediatrician, too. Lucky me.
"Dr." Santa-ma-fuckin-sumpin-er-other, my new dicky-doc, whisks me away in a hurried frenzy w/ such attitude I could've shit. After weighing me and sticking something in my ear, she asked me why I would wait 'til noontime Saturday to come in, instead of making an appointment for Mon-Fri. I'm like: "Uh, My Back Hurts...Badly...These Things Happen On Saturday's and Sunday's, too--Y'know."
She actually rolled her eyes.
She took my blood pressure, pulse, and told me there was nothing she could do for me on a Saturday, and says: "Mr. Blake will see you in a moment, lay down if ya want." And she took off.
I was left wondering: "Who is Mr. Blake, and why is he Mr. Blake and not Dr. Blake?"
Mr. Blake came in the room, and I jumped--as I was bored and zoned out on the comparison poster of the black lung of a smoker and the pink lung of a non-smoker. He shook my hand and asked me where I hirt. I took my shirt off and showed him. He made me lay on my back and roll my legs around in circles, and bend down to touch my toes. I was highly uncomfortable. Flashbacks galore.
He wrote up a referral to the hospital, to get X-rays done, and said: "I'll give you some anti-inflammatries". I'm like: "What about my pain?" He says: "Yes, that'll talke care of the pain." So, the bastard gives me samples of some drug I've never heard of--and I've heard of and taken them all.
All I could think was: "Damnyou, Dr. Bordowitz--Damnyou to HELL!"
I took'm. My back still hurts. I'm not surprised. I looked the drug's name up online, and found out it's for arthritis. hmm... NOTE TO SELF: FIND NEW MEDICAL ATTENTION ON TUESDAY.
So, here I sit on a gloomy afternoon w/ a bad back and a dead cat. I can't get no satisfaction.
That being said:
It's been a grey day. Abigail slept w/ me last night. I fell asleep, my body in a curved C-shape around her tiny, fragile body 'round 3 a.m., then jolted @ 6 to see if she was breathing...instinctive and in a panic, like the daddy of a sick baby...
I was the daddy of a sick baby...
Abba, she could barely walk, or move. She'd have no part of food n' water. Part of me wanted to prolong the inevitable--keep her alive for my own selfish reasons; the other parts wanted that dreaded hour of noon to approach...just to know she'd no longer feel discomfort and misery...I wanted to hold her, but I couldn't look at her.
And, I couldn't do it. I couldn't go to the vet w/ my mother and walk into that room w/ her, in her carrier--which looked so much like a coffin when she was carted out of here to the car @ 11:45--I punked out on my pussycat.
So, mom took her.
I showered, got dressed, and went to my doctor. The office is open on Saturday for 'emergency" visits, 9-12. I've been having an awful problem w/ my lower back for over a month now, and it's to the point where sitting, standing, or lying down is painful. I'm 24. This ain't right.
I called the office @ 9:30, the receptionist chick put me on hold for 10 minutes, then came back and said: "so, what's the problem, sir?" I explained my pain in a gentlemanly manner, despite the fact she was a snotty ebonic-"speaking" cunt. She says: "Let me take your phone number, and we'll call you right back. Stay by the phone".
An Hour and 15 minutes later, no callback. So, I push redial and spit: "Uh, I'm still waiting for your call, hon. Can I come in or what?"
"Nobody called you? Uh....Uh....Uh.....yeah. Come down. We're open 'til 12".
It was quarter to 11. Mom had to take Abigail to the gas chamber, and so Gran had to collect me and take me down.
I got there @ noon, on the fuckin' dot. The ghetto receptionist was in sweats and Garfield t-shirt. My doctor, Dr. Bordowitz, was literally waltzing out the door--ON HIS LAST DAY AT THE PRACTICE--w/ boxes and people helping him. Then, off he went--in a sea of "We'll Miss You" balloons, in his black Mercedes. The receptionist says: "We'll have to change your Primary Doctor", and gives me a chick "doctor"--who just happens to be a pediatrician, too. Lucky me.
"Dr." Santa-ma-fuckin-sumpin-er-other, my new dicky-doc, whisks me away in a hurried frenzy w/ such attitude I could've shit. After weighing me and sticking something in my ear, she asked me why I would wait 'til noontime Saturday to come in, instead of making an appointment for Mon-Fri. I'm like: "Uh, My Back Hurts...Badly...These Things Happen On Saturday's and Sunday's, too--Y'know."
She actually rolled her eyes.
She took my blood pressure, pulse, and told me there was nothing she could do for me on a Saturday, and says: "Mr. Blake will see you in a moment, lay down if ya want." And she took off.
I was left wondering: "Who is Mr. Blake, and why is he Mr. Blake and not Dr. Blake?"
Mr. Blake came in the room, and I jumped--as I was bored and zoned out on the comparison poster of the black lung of a smoker and the pink lung of a non-smoker. He shook my hand and asked me where I hirt. I took my shirt off and showed him. He made me lay on my back and roll my legs around in circles, and bend down to touch my toes. I was highly uncomfortable. Flashbacks galore.
He wrote up a referral to the hospital, to get X-rays done, and said: "I'll give you some anti-inflammatries". I'm like: "What about my pain?" He says: "Yes, that'll talke care of the pain." So, the bastard gives me samples of some drug I've never heard of--and I've heard of and taken them all.
All I could think was: "Damnyou, Dr. Bordowitz--Damnyou to HELL!"
I took'm. My back still hurts. I'm not surprised. I looked the drug's name up online, and found out it's for arthritis. hmm... NOTE TO SELF: FIND NEW MEDICAL ATTENTION ON TUESDAY.
So, here I sit on a gloomy afternoon w/ a bad back and a dead cat. I can't get no satisfaction.