I had to be at work at 7AM this morning due to some high maintenance people were going to be there and they needed breakfast and they needed lunch and they needed projectors, flip charts....blah, blah, blah. I won't go into all the details, because, who cares? Anyway, it was a stressful morning, especially since I had to be to a doctor's appointment by 11:30AM. Because I am a rock star and because my good pal Valerie is super helpful, I was on schedule.
I arrive at the doctor's office and take a seat. My appointment is at 11:45, but I had to be there at 11:30 for paperwork or whatever, you know, because time is of the essence. If I don't get there on time, I would get a reprimand, a charge for missing my appointment and I'd have to reschedule, so like I said, I was on time. The same cannot be said of the doctor. I sat there for 45 freaking minutes. I watched as the waiting room filled and cleared, filled and cleared and still, I was there. I was mad. I was drumming my fingers, tapping my feet, I was doing the elaborate heavy sigh. There was no question I was unhappy. I saw the receptionist look at me and then scurry down the hall. She came back and slunk down low in her seat so I couldn't see her face over the computer. It's safe to say, she was aware I was pissed.
Finally, with two minutes left before I walked up the the counter and got in their face, the door opened and some girl says, "CASSANDARA?" I stared at her and said loudly, "CASSONDRA." She took me in the room and asked me the usual questions and I answered with non-friendly, curt answers. "Is all your medication the same since we saw you two weeks ago?" I said yes. Then she asked how tall I was. I looked at her incredulously and said, "I don't know, I guess 5'6", what does it say from two weeks ago?" She wasn't sure. I said, "Why do you ask me how tall I am. I'm forty friggin' years old, it isn't like I'm going to go through a growth spurt!?" She gave me some lame excuse about how it's all charted on a timeline. I said, "Well, I doubt I will sprout up anytime soon."
I should pause and explain why I was there today. And, don't worry, it doesn't involve my uterus, my "hoo-hoo," my butt or my boobs. It's pretty G rated this time. I have a cyst thing on the inside of my big toe, it needs to be removed. It's so big, they have to take a skin graph from another part of my foot. Glamorous, right? Well, this is my "pre-op" appointment to go over the details. On a side note, I forgot to ask him why they wouldn't take my skin graph from someplace where there is plenty of extra skin, like my ass. Maybe on the day of surgery I can ask.
So, anyway, the medical assistant gives me the run down of what the hospital is and is not liable for during my procedure on the first form. The second form is where it gets a little dicier. They inform me that if anything should go wrong, they are not going to attempt any heroic measures to save me, they won't resuscitate me. Well, first, thanks for nothing Asshole. Secondly, it's a cyst on my toe, not a four-way heart by-pass. Good Lord, how deep are they going to go on that toe? What exactly are they going to do, put me so far under I can only recall that I'm a blond Caucasian woman when it's over? I mean, I'm sure I probably won't necessarily die, but if I do, I have to agree not to hold them liable. Hey, Space Cowboy, if I'm dead, I'm pretty sure my signature is irrelevant.
The doctor finally comes in and looks at the form in my hand and the look on my face. He says, "oh no, you've read the form. What is worrying you?" How do I answer that question? I said, "Well, first of all, let's talk about me dying from toe surgery." He went on to explain while it is highly unlikely, complications could arise at any time. Why, my toe could get infected, my skin graph area could get infected. I could have to lose my leg if this sort of thing gets out of hand, and well, let's be honest, I could die. We finished talking about the procedure, how drugged up I would be and how I would have to be severely bandaged because, as the doctor said, "you never know where you just put your foot, it could be somewhere a dog defecated on the ground." Well, that could be anywhere in my home surroundings. I'm screwed. I didn't tell him about the horses, I don't think he could have handled that imagery.
I finally finished and stopped at the bathroom before I left. I looked in the mirror and my whole face and neck were beat red. Yes, that wait in the lobby did itself proud. I can only imagine what my blood pressure was. Pity they didn't check.
I returned to work and informed everyone of my dire situation. If things go south during my surgery, I have signed and agreed that I'm OK with them not resuscitating me. Valerie asked which of my desk toys I was leaving to her. I don't think anyone is taking this serious. It is my toe for crying out loud!!!
You will all be sorry if I do actually succumb to the white light.
I arrive at the doctor's office and take a seat. My appointment is at 11:45, but I had to be there at 11:30 for paperwork or whatever, you know, because time is of the essence. If I don't get there on time, I would get a reprimand, a charge for missing my appointment and I'd have to reschedule, so like I said, I was on time. The same cannot be said of the doctor. I sat there for 45 freaking minutes. I watched as the waiting room filled and cleared, filled and cleared and still, I was there. I was mad. I was drumming my fingers, tapping my feet, I was doing the elaborate heavy sigh. There was no question I was unhappy. I saw the receptionist look at me and then scurry down the hall. She came back and slunk down low in her seat so I couldn't see her face over the computer. It's safe to say, she was aware I was pissed.
Finally, with two minutes left before I walked up the the counter and got in their face, the door opened and some girl says, "CASSANDARA?" I stared at her and said loudly, "CASSONDRA." She took me in the room and asked me the usual questions and I answered with non-friendly, curt answers. "Is all your medication the same since we saw you two weeks ago?" I said yes. Then she asked how tall I was. I looked at her incredulously and said, "I don't know, I guess 5'6", what does it say from two weeks ago?" She wasn't sure. I said, "Why do you ask me how tall I am. I'm forty friggin' years old, it isn't like I'm going to go through a growth spurt!?" She gave me some lame excuse about how it's all charted on a timeline. I said, "Well, I doubt I will sprout up anytime soon."
I should pause and explain why I was there today. And, don't worry, it doesn't involve my uterus, my "hoo-hoo," my butt or my boobs. It's pretty G rated this time. I have a cyst thing on the inside of my big toe, it needs to be removed. It's so big, they have to take a skin graph from another part of my foot. Glamorous, right? Well, this is my "pre-op" appointment to go over the details. On a side note, I forgot to ask him why they wouldn't take my skin graph from someplace where there is plenty of extra skin, like my ass. Maybe on the day of surgery I can ask.
So, anyway, the medical assistant gives me the run down of what the hospital is and is not liable for during my procedure on the first form. The second form is where it gets a little dicier. They inform me that if anything should go wrong, they are not going to attempt any heroic measures to save me, they won't resuscitate me. Well, first, thanks for nothing Asshole. Secondly, it's a cyst on my toe, not a four-way heart by-pass. Good Lord, how deep are they going to go on that toe? What exactly are they going to do, put me so far under I can only recall that I'm a blond Caucasian woman when it's over? I mean, I'm sure I probably won't necessarily die, but if I do, I have to agree not to hold them liable. Hey, Space Cowboy, if I'm dead, I'm pretty sure my signature is irrelevant.
The doctor finally comes in and looks at the form in my hand and the look on my face. He says, "oh no, you've read the form. What is worrying you?" How do I answer that question? I said, "Well, first of all, let's talk about me dying from toe surgery." He went on to explain while it is highly unlikely, complications could arise at any time. Why, my toe could get infected, my skin graph area could get infected. I could have to lose my leg if this sort of thing gets out of hand, and well, let's be honest, I could die. We finished talking about the procedure, how drugged up I would be and how I would have to be severely bandaged because, as the doctor said, "you never know where you just put your foot, it could be somewhere a dog defecated on the ground." Well, that could be anywhere in my home surroundings. I'm screwed. I didn't tell him about the horses, I don't think he could have handled that imagery.
I finally finished and stopped at the bathroom before I left. I looked in the mirror and my whole face and neck were beat red. Yes, that wait in the lobby did itself proud. I can only imagine what my blood pressure was. Pity they didn't check.
I returned to work and informed everyone of my dire situation. If things go south during my surgery, I have signed and agreed that I'm OK with them not resuscitating me. Valerie asked which of my desk toys I was leaving to her. I don't think anyone is taking this serious. It is my toe for crying out loud!!!
You will all be sorry if I do actually succumb to the white light.
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