They say that having a cat can reduce your blood pressure and mellow you out. Man, did I need mellowing last night. We had a guy catch the DAV van to Memphis who wanted to go to the ER because he had broken his hand. Well, that was fine, but we later found out, after he had sat in the ER waiting room for nearly eight hours, and the rest of us had been in the lobby for the same eight hours, that the nimrod had broken his hand falling off his dirt bike TWO WEEKS AGO! No wonder they made him sit there while the REAL emergencies were being seen. He did manage to wrangle the narcotics (oxycodone) out of them, however. Bastard. And wimp.
I've dealt with chronic pain for the past twenty-five years, and they will not give me "the good drugs". Why is that? I don't complain of #10 pain all the time? (That would be the worst on the scale of 1-10.) Generally, I'd class mine as a 6 or 7 with an occasional 8-9. To me, when it gets that bad, I'm IN the hospital. Only once has that pain been really a level ten, where I begged for them to put me out somehow. That was when they were inserting a drain tube into my side, under my liver, to drain a staph infection after surgery. I was awake, and did not want to be.
Back to our story. I did see the neurologist yesterday. Unfortunately, my test results had yet to be delivered to him. He spent a good fifteen minutes trying to run them down in the complexities of the VA system, but they were not there. It seems that the contracted service has not had them couriered over to the hospital yet. Now why in heavens name could they not have handed ME, the fecking PATIENT, my OWN RESULTS to hand carry to the neurologist last Friday when I was on my way over to see him directly (Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200) after the testing? Because they cannot trust me with my own diagnosis? What the hell was I going to do with the cd-rom? Go operate on myself? Judas Priest on a pogo stick.
All I got yesterday for my time was the last visit with Dr. M, whom I will miss. He's a great doctor, and leaves today for Cleveland, Ohio, and a new practice. He told me in short to be careful, not do anything that might damage my back or neck (I promised no rollerblading or hang gliding), because there might be something they could do surgically for my neck, even if my back is probably beyond most help. I wished him fair seas and following winds. My next appointment will be as soon as they find my fecking MRI scans.
After waiting on the whiny kid all that time, we were all tired. He gets in the van, and the driver says, routinely, "Everybody buckled up?" Kid says "I don't wear no seatbelt. Things get you killed." I turned around, and said "That's the rules here, wear it or don't get a ride home." I continued the lecture. "I'd be dead already if I hadn't been wearing mine." He counters "Mine got hung up once". I said "I'd take my chances of being hung up rather than tossed out of the vehicle. Besides, you can cut the strap." He says, "You carry a pocket knife?" I said, "Yeah, a big sharp one."
He put on the fecking seat belt. Idiot.
End of rant.
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