I have a friend who irritates the crap out of me. If you come within her orbit you sort of don't exist in a totally three D way anymore. She talks constantly, usually about herself, her children, her work, her life, her crisis of the day. There is a lot of drama here.
And yet, she is golden. She is kind beyond thought, she is funny funny funny. She is always available for anything, yet always busy doing thirty things and lighting a cigarette at the same time.
Today I am going to her house and I am going to sit on the hard, cold, raw concrete floor of her living room, regardless of the fact that it may take two people to get me up, as she orders tile layers, painters, installers, floorererers, and Carlos, her contractor around. Nothing like sitting on your ass in a room full of tile dust and chaos to take you away from your own problems and frustrations.
I don't know if it's surgeon ego, or interdisciplinary politics, or a legitimate difference of medical opinion (FUCKERS!) but yesterday I got royally screwed by the medical machine that has been seeing to my not insubstantial needs for the last year and a half. Today was supposed to be a Red Letter Day.
Two, maybe three of the bolts are coming out of my tibia! Finally the "bedsore like" raw tissue on the inside of my pes tendon can heal because the freaking threads of the screw sticking out the wrong side of my bone won't be rubbing on it with every twitch of my thigh or calf. A year and a half thank you to the series of doctors who kept saying "Nah, that screw is fine!" as I limped around in obvious pain on a cane.
But no. Canceled. Yesterday. Maybe. Maybe Not. Hang on. Ortho is PISSED at Anesthesiology. I am pissed at everybody. Anesth won't come down from the clouds to deal with Ortho. I am STILL pissed at everybody. Maybe today? Maybe Friday? IT IS ELEVEN A.M. WILL YOU PEOPLE JUST DECIDE SO I CAN LIMP OVER TO THE FRIDGE AND HAVE A COKE ALREADY I'M DYING HERE.
Or maybe I'll just go back to bed and cry.Labels: accident, medicine, personal urban drama |
