Doing the blogging (and the lunching) a little early today.
See, I just got back from my appointment with the Stroke Prevention Clinic with Doctor Teal, and I tried to make myself eat breakfast before we left at 10:30 am for my appointment at 11:30 am, but as usual when I am in a state of anticipation and/or agitation, I was too excited to eat.
Rather pesky little eccentricity of mine, that one.
So I picked up a Hungryman Sub (I know some of those) from 7-11 (with Julian’s help, of course) on the way back. Got here at around 2:20 pm and figured there was no point in staying hungry for another 40 minutes just to meet my usual schedule, so here I am.
I mean, what the hell, it’s not like Doctor Teal gave a shit about my schedule either.
My appointment was for 11:30 am and I didn’t see him till almost 1 pm!
Motherfucker. I swear, doctors live in their own little world where all that matters is seeing patient after patient and the fact that on some level both distant and obscure times of day and their patients are somehow tangentially connected in a way that couldn’t possibly have any impact on THEM.
I mean, what do people expect them to do? HURRRY?
That’s for lesser beings.
And I’m just some unemployed schmuck with nothing better to do with my time. Imagine if I was a single mother with kids and a job and therefore nowhere near the flexibility of schedule to just hang out for an extra hour and a half.
Or if I was elderly and weak and spending my precious time between naps in order to be in a fit state to come to the doctor.
“Is he ready?”
“Nope. It’ll be at least an hour. “
“Then I hope you got a cot here, honey, otherwise I’m sleeping on the floor. “
Anyhow. the appointment happened. Nothing new seemed to come of it. He asked the obvious questions, gave me someneurological tests (the “follow the tip of my pen with your eyes” type), then ordered a chest CT to be done at the place across the street.
Fine. Whatever. His nurse-assistant made the call and she and I headed over there.
Everything was fine until we left the Diamond building and I saw that the place across the street was only accessible via either stairs or a long ramp.
In other words, not accessible by me.
Because I was half near dead just from the trip down the elevator from the eighth floor of the Diamond building.
And that brings me to the “wheels” portion of this blog entry, because I am having to seriously consider whether it’s time I bit the bullet and transitioned to a wheelchair.
Which poor Julian would then have to push.
But I was panting like a diesel locomotive that just ran up a flight of stairs and sweating like an ice sculpture in August just from an elevator ride and a push down some hallways, and that’s a very worrying sign.
So I have emailed Regency Pharmacy asking about wheelchair prices.
I suppose I should also ask whether the Ministry will help me pay for one. From what I have heard, they are pretty generous when you’re an actual cripple.
And I increasingly am.
More after the break.
The wheels keep turning
Regency replied to my basic inquiry :
Wheelchair Rental, deposit $120, 60 monthly and 25 weekly
To buy is Price range from $399.99 to $650.00
OK, good. That gives me a sense of what I am dealing with.
I have the cash saved up to buy if I need to. That would save money in the long run. On the other hand, I casn handle $60 monthly no problemo. And if I rent, I could try out different models, see what works best for me.
So I will probably rent first then eventually own.
It may not come to this. Today could have been a fluke. Might be that the next time I go to Wound Care, I will not find the trip up n’ down nearly as traumatic.
But I don’t think so. I think something’s up with me, and I am definitely going to talk to my family doctor, Doctor Chao, about it when I see him Monday.
I swear, every time I make an in-person appointment with him, other medical issues suddenly pop out of the woodwork, as if they were just waiting for their cue.
Like they un-suppress themselves.
Right now, it feels like the problem is in my lungs. But it could just as easily be my heart.
I say my lungs because even now, many hours after my ordeal, I am still wheezing a little. I can feel it in the pit of my lungs.
It’s the feeling I usually get after being outside in the cold. I wasn’t aware of being cold when I was out there, though.
Couldn’t have been under freezing, that’s for sure. I would have been able to see my breath. And we’ve had our five days of Actual Winter this year.
Whatever it is, it’s not good. Practical concerns aside, I hardly relish the prospect of further enfeeblement. The road to goober-hood seems very clear from there.
Seems sad to have gone to all this hassle with walkers only to go to a wheelchair. Well I would still be using a walker when I am home, methinks.
It’s only the travel arrangements that would change. Which would also be tragic given how much money and work Joe has put into my rollator.
Yeah that’s a real word. Look it up.
So my life continues to be full of fun surprises. Sigh. I had no idea how bad things had gotten until today.
I wonder if I need more work done on my heart. Or worse, something needs to be done with my lungs.
No way I can handle them sticking tubes into my lungs. That would trip my whole phobia of suffocation hard.
So anything they did, they would have to while I am either knocked out or REALLY tripping balls. To the point where the difference between that state and actually being fully unconscious is mostly academic.
Hopefully it won’t come to that.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.