God fucking damn it, am I sick of being a medical mystery.
So my case got punted by ER Doctor Low-Beer (half the calories of a regular doctor but with all the flavour of a full one) to a Doctor Jesse Chew (yes, that’s how he spells his name – don’t ask me) and today, I went to see Doctor Chew (the number one gum among physicians who care about their dental health).
Julian dropped me off at the building at Burrard and Davie, and I made my way ot the elevator and all the way up to the top floor, the Tenth.
And you know what? It felt good to be able to do that m uch by myself. Becoming a cripple has really done a number on my already quite weak belief in my own competence and capacity and ability to be real live grownup person, so it felt good to be able to do something on my own for once.
Even before my legs went boom, it always made me feel very good to have done something by myself. I regret now that I did not take advantage of that ability very often.
I could have really developed my confidence in myself that way. Now I am so damned frail that I can’t even leave the apartment building alone.
Disability is the assassin of dignity.
Anyhoo, up to the tenth floor I went. Found the office (room 1025) and checked in with the receptionist, but had to shout a little to tell her my medications because I had to sit down before my legs gave out on me.
We went through all the usual tests that I am familiar with from my time with Doctor Vaezi, the guy that did my cataract surgery years ago.
Then I was admitted to an exam room with a handsome, fresh faced young doctor waiting for me.
There, the nurse/tech that did my eye measurements told him that the cameras on the instruments would not take an image of my left eye.
Red flag number one.
Doctor Handsome quite thoroughly examined my eyes. It was quite draining, to be honest. And what do you know, he’s having a hell of a hard time seeing into my left eye just like the cameras.
And suddenly, I flashed back to Doc Vaezi’s office and him and his people having the exact same problem with the exact same eye all those years back.
Red flag number two.
After struggling to get a glimpse of what is happening in my bad eye for quite a while, Doctor Handsome gets up and says, “I better go get Doctor Chew. ”
And I’m thinking, Well then who the hell are you?
He comes back with a older Asian doctor straight out of central casting, white labcoat, cheerful smile, and all.
I quite liked him.
He looks into my eyes too, and then has a confab with Doctor Handsome: most of which was in the doctor equivalent of “shop talk” so I could not follow it.
I’m bright but I don’t know everything. Yet.
Meanwhile, I am eagerly waiting for them to tell me what the fuck is wrong.
So imagine my shock and dismay when they told me they were punting me back to none other than Doctor Fucking Vaezi, while Doctor Handsome mumbled something about them having different instruments that might be able to see more.
I wish I had been quick-witted and on the ball enough to say, “Um no, Ive already been there, they don’t fucking work either!”.
So that’s where I am now. I go to Doctor Vaezi’s office at 2:30 pm tomorrow to see one of his associates. a Doctor Mackay, for further interrogation examination.
Which is almost guaranteed to be an utter waste of time because, again, I already know that their instruments won’t be able to penetrate my Eye of Mystery either.
Makes me wonder how he did the cataract surgery on that eye. Oh well, whatever.
Oh, and just to top it all off, when we got back to the apartment building, the elevator was being held up by some jackass having a deep and intimate conversation with someone while holding the fucking elevator door open.
This was bad news for me because I really had to bee. In fact, being close to home had kind caused my bladder to, shall we say, begin the pre-urinary process.
And we waited, and waited, and Julian kept on having to press the “going up” button because the light kept going out without an elevator showing up for us, and meanwhile I am having to dance around both out of urinary need and to keep my legs from giving out on me from standing for too long, and well…. there was a leak.
Meaning I wet myself.
Yup. There goes the rest of my dignity.
Got home, and had to change into one of my old pairs of Sans-i-belt slacks because they were the only things clean, and there’s a reason I stopped wearing those fucking things and it’s because they are way, way too big for me now.
Sans-i-belt can handle anything but you losing weight, it seems.
So today’s been just fucking ducky. And tomorrow is probably going to be really fucking stupid as well.
All this, and my computer still crashes when I try to play any video game with a serious 3D aspect to it. Like almost everything good.
The only solution is to turn down the graphics settings on my games, and do you know how depressing that will be when i have just spent a lot of money upgrading this computer to be super zippy amazingly fast?!?
My previous computer actually played these games better. In that they did not crash.
BG3 ran like used ass, but I had at least stopped it from crashing, dammit.
Life fucking stinks.
Whaddaya know I CAN still write 1K words in one sitting, if I’m pissed off enough.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.