Went to the Wound Care Clinic for the first time post discharge from the hospital’s IV antibiotic unit today.
Turns out my memories of how huge the Community Health Center is were enormously exaggerated. I kind of suspected that would be the case because the version of it in my memory looked a lot like some kind of concrete mausoleum than a health center.
So, phew on that. But I must admit, I will miss that crazy crypt with the spiraling ramps and the oddly warm decorative style.
Maybe I will put it in a sci fi story some day. Make it the final resting place of a race of meticulous and very religious interior designers.
Positive Feng Shui isn’t just a good idea – it’s the law.
I was almost late for my little date because I slept through my alarm. Twice. I know it went off because I woke up with it still beeping.
And it strikes me that every time I have cursed my alarm for “not going off”, I have actually had no proof of that other than my not waking up.
The hidden assumption being that if it went off, I would have woken up.
Evidently this assumption is unwarranted.
Anyhow, I ended up sliding under the wire with like 30 seconds to spare.
’cause I’m awesome like that.
Then I was the victim of bad signage. I was told by Reception to go wait in Waiting Area B. I saw a sign that said Waiting Area B. It had a chair under it. Sitting next to said chair was a cleaning cart.
So I sat in the chair and internally grumbled about the classy accommodations.
Well it turns out Waiting Room B was a much nicer place further down the hall. The sign did not indicate this at all.
So the two ladies from Wound Care had to come find me and show me where the actual Waiting Area B was, then admit me to Wound Care.
And that was embarrassing. You would think I would be used to this kind of thing by now. But it hurts my pride every single fucking time.
I really need handlers.
The appointment itself was no biggie. Sadly, there was still no wound reduction to be done. The wound was pretty much exactly the same as it had been over a week ago, which was the last time something could be done.
Better get cracking on improving my blood sugar and my circulation or that thing is never going to heal.
Yeah I will get right on that just like all the other things I should be doing but don’t.
I just can’t handle it all. I have too many things wrong with me all at once. All I can do is hang in there and do what I can do when I can do it and go to my appointments and hope to live long enough to get better despite not always doing the homework.
I wish I was strong enough to handle it all. But I’m not.
Hell, there are things I haven’t even told anyone about because I already have too much on my plate.
I wish I could just go surrender myself to the medical system, and tell them to check everything, test for everything, and verify everything because I suck at self-reporting.
And please, hold me here in the hospital until I am fully healed. I cannot be left in my own care. That would be severe neglect.
Because I just plain can’t do this.
Which means it will not get done.
Which means I am gonna die.
And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
More after the break.
My last days alive
Traditional wisdom says that when you know you are going to die, you start whooping it up and living life to the fullest.
I don’t know how to even begin to do something like that. Not without a lottery win. I m
I mean, if I was capable of living the good life, even within my extremely modest means, I would not dwell in the darkness of depression like I do.
But I am a cramped up closed off cloistered loner who is too scared of the world to o anything but squat in my cave like one of those poor souls who doesn’t know the war is over and is still, in their minds, hiding behind enemy lines/
Dear me : The war ended a long time ago. You can come home now. Please lay down your weapons and surrender to the authorities so you can get the help you need.
O wait, never mind, they don’t give a shit either. You are, as always, alone in a world you are far too weak to handle.
Some baby birds fly. But others just die.
My being unable to have fun explains why I have $1200+ sitting on my reloadable VISA waiting to be spent. It’s been there for ages and I am no nearer to spending it than I was this time last year.
Too many options and not enough will or desire to form a basis for choice.
Do whatever I want? I don’t know what I want.
I can’t just buy a job writing for TV.
So not only am I running out of time, but I cant even benefit from it. No “Scent of a Woman” style lavish last days for me.
Just the same pathetic lifestyle till I finally die. The perfect ending to a pointless life.
Oh well. At least I won’t be around to see the end of civilization as we know it. The whole world is going to burn because saving it would make twenty billionaires slightly less rich and we can’t have that.
They might get all pouty and throw a tantrum.
This weekend, the air quality was so poor due to all the forest fires that we skipped out usual hangout on Friday night and stayed home where it is relatively safer.
And it only gets worse from here, folks. This time next year even being indoors will not save you and we will all be wearing filter masks 24/7 like the residents of dystopia we quite surely have become.
So maybe it’s for the best that I won’t make it that far.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.