Well that was a waste of my fucking time.
Finally took my bad foot to the ER. It’s the same bad foot as before but over the last week or so it’s gotten a lot worse. To the point where it hurts like a bitch to walk on it.
As in, hurts so bad that I found myself getting a tiny panic attack when I knew I would have to stand up and walk soon. So bad that just getting a meal from the kitchen feels like a Station of the Cross.
And worse is this sort of sick crunchy feeling and the wobble in my step it causes, because that is twisting my ankle and putting strain on the sides of my foot.
Plus, what was once a tiny area of dry, stiff skin is now a big nasty diabetic ulcer. Still dry, thank God, but quite a trainwreck nonetheless.
The pain makes me functionally crippled, so I figured, ER time.
I shouldn’t have freaking bothered.
Because after being there for three hours and having them get my hopes up by taking blood and x-rays (also the name of my webcomic), all I got was “see a podiatrist and try to stay off it”.
Well double fucking duh, asshole. I already tried a podiatrist and they’re mysteriously not covered by my disability coverage and you don’t need to tell me to stay off it because it FUCKING HURTS.
Oh, and what do they recommend for the pain? Tylenol! Thanks a lot, doc. Kindly consider first going and then fucking yourself.
I say “mysteriously not covered” because it makes absolutely no sense that going to the podiatrist isn’t covered when going to any other medical specialist is.
Like my ER doc. Doctor Wishlow, said, it makes no sense that a sore on my arm is covered but one on my foot is not.
And like I said to him, “Does the province consider feet to be a luxury?”.
Because that’s the only way this shit would make any sense.
So I spent three hours in the ER and got nothing. Hell, they didn’t even refer me back to the wound care clinic.
Luckily, in the process of getting my butt to the ER, I discovered that the foot hurts a lot less when I have a shoe and sock on it, so I will be keeping my feet shod and socked for the time being just for getting around the house.
And tomorrow, I will call the podiatrist who Doctor Wishlow said was “willing to consider a reduced rate”. Oh yippy fucking skippy.
Looks like I am going to have to bite the bullet and pay for medical care. In CANADA.
Let that sink in. Insanity.
“Honorable MP, why does British Columbia favor American style health care for feet?”
Then hit them with the “are feet a luxury?” line.
I might also see about renting a cane. A proper medical one. I am sure I could get the regular kind off of Amazon for pretty cheap, but given my weight and clumsiness, I would prefer something guaranteed to be sturdy.
All in all, today has been lame and sucked.
Now I am going to go lay down in the dark and sulk.
More after the break.
You never can tell
Got this stuck in my head :
Still pissed off about my wasted afternoon. I think I assumed that because it was a much worse problem this time, there was bound to be some kind of action.
Nope. Still nothing. When I was waiting for my cab, I darkly amused myself by imagining myself asking Doctor Wishlow [1] if I should just go home and set my feet on fire, and see if that rated medical intervention.
I give it a 50/50 chance.
Got myself McD’s tonight, as a treat. My usual 10 McNuggets meal with large fries, large Diet Coke, and a carrot muffin for dessert.
But it doesn’t feel like a treat. I guess I have had it too often for it to feel special. Chalk that up to experience, then : the usual from McD’s does not a treat make.
I originally had my heart set on some tasty KFC. Got my usual order from there together too : 4 piece big box with coleslaw and fries plus an individual gravy,
So much nicer than the communal gravy.
Anyhow, it was all ready to go, but then I remembered that the local KFC closes at 7:30 pm for some insane reason, and it was 7:43 pm, so no dice.
No wonder I don’t get KFC very often. I’m usually not even hungry till 8 pm.
Presumably the local KFC franchisee (hee hee hee) thinks there is no point in staying open once the dinner rush is over.
I can’t say for sure that they are wrong to think this, but all the other places I order from seem to disagree with them on that.
Stupid fucking KFC.
So as you can see, I am still in a lovely mood.
Part of the problem with being unused to venting feelings of anger is that I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to get out of this pissed off state of mind.
I guess I just have to let the fever run its course.
That’s hard. I don’t like being angry. It burns. I want to exit this mood and go back to my usual default level of shittiness.
Home sweet home.
But I suppose being unwilling to endure unpleasant emotions is a big part of my problem. I keep hitting the escape button on the bad stuff but all that does is shunt it to the side and adds it to the enormous backlog of other unprocessed bad stuff.
And that backlog takes a lot of energy to keep repressed, leaving tragically little for such petty tasks as, for example, keeping my mood above suicidal.
Happiness takes energy. Austerity kills happiness. In doing so, it kills whatever the hell austerity was supposed to achieve.
Repeat until believed.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.