Look, titles are hard.

Was supposed to have therapy at noon, but Doc Costin got sick. Poor guy. I have a terrible feeling that he is hitting the “everything goes wrong at once” stage of aging, which tends to be the last.

I hope not. He’s a great guy. But he and he wife are in there seventies, so….

My nontheistic prayers are with you, Doc Costin.

Tomorrow’s my Big Day. Wound Care at 2:30 pm and then my spinal CT scan at 9:40 pm, though of course they want me to arrive early.

Because it’s late at night, the main doors will be closed and locked, so I will be going in through the Emergency department.

You know, they call them departments, but they never depart.

Wait, there they go.

Going in through the ED is no big deal for me. What with all the time I’ve spent there due to ER visits and the times I did IV antibiotics there (before the hospital had its own neato little ward for that), I honestly feel right at home there.

I assume I will go through the admitting clerk first. Show her my CareCard, get the little wristband, yadda yadda.

Then off to Medical Imaging. Pretty sure I already know the way there from all the times I went there on a gurney during ER visits.

Once more, the idea that I should have just gone to the ER with my leg issues rears its ugly head. But no, I did what I am supposed to do instead.

And that really hurts. Because I am not some rule humping sheep. I don’t follow the goddamned herd. I make the strategically best decision based on my goals, morals, and interests every single round, every single time.

This is what I get for trying to be “good” and do things the “right way”.

And, I cannot help but conclude, this is also what I get for trusting in the competence of others. Turns out I just plain don’t get to relax and let others take care of me.

I’ve always got to be paranoid and hostile and suspicious because the alternative to to trust my fate to people who may not have my best interests at heart and who may not even see me as fully human.

I mean, I’ve seen how some nurses look at me, and it’s not good.

Admittedly, that was in Burnaby, not Richmond, though.

But still, I have read the reports of fat people getting shitty treatment from the medical establishment, so I am on guard for that.

But that’s not enough. Apparently, it’s up to me to provide the focus and drive for my own medical treatment. Doc Chao means well but he is too soft and meek to really fight for his patients and that’s not gonna work for me.

I want a doctor like Quincy or Bones(either of them). Compassionate, courageous, combative in defense of their patients, and stubborn as hell.

One thing is for sure : I am just about ready to give up being polite and doing what I am told and ready to given in to my controlling side and start bossing people around.

Seems to be what I have to do in order to not get run over by the system.

SQUEAK SQUEAK said the wheel.

More after the break.

This all sucks

But you all knew that already.

Forgive my snarkiness but as usual. I am fresh from a truly painful and upsetting trip to the kitchen to get food.

Having leftover from last night’s Pizza Slit order was wonderful. Magical, even. Because the leftovers stayed in the room with me (instead of going i the fridge as usual) and therefore had two glorious, wonderful meals where I did NOT have to make the perilously painful pilgrimage to the kitchen and back to get it.

Kind of makes me want to order more food. In bulk.

More sanely (and cheaply), I am thinking of moving some of my food into the bedroom here with me to save me some of those damned trips

In fact, it’s occurred to me that if I had a spare microwave on hand, and I can get my mini-fridge working again, I could basically have my own little kitchen in here.

Fridge and microwave are all I ever use in the kitchen, after all. Well, that and the bottom two shelves of my personal pantry cupboard.

The top two shelves are full of baking stuff I never use any more.

So recreating at least part of that in here is plausible.

Sure, it would take work to set up, but it would be the best kind of work. Namely the kind that saves you a lot more work in the long run and thus is a big net reduction in effort.

Thus speaketh the voice of enlightened laziness.

A lot of my fellow depressives don’t like it when I talk about things like enlightened laziness because it sounds suspiciously like it means having to actually do things.

And they are totally against that.

That’s the madness of the anti-action bias in action. You could incontrovertibly prove ot someone with depression that a given choice of action would vastly reduce the amount of work and hassle they have to deal with in the future and they would still firmly reject it because that would mean doing something.

I fight that feeling as much as I can. I tell myself that effort is not the enemy and that I would be a much happier man if I moved around more and did more.

And I know that’s true. The happiest times in my adult life have been when I was busy doing meaningful things. Finally something was draining all that excess nervous energy and I could finally relax!

You would think that would be enough to keep me moving. But no.

And my health issues seem to be conspiring to make sure I lose the ability to do much in the first place.

But still, I struggle.

And I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.