So hooray, I made it to the God Help You If It’s Urgent Care Center today.

But it was close. I almost quit several times.

The first was before even leaving. Woke up feeling my usual kind of crappy and really did not feel like getting dressed and getting going.

But I managed to nudge myself in the right direction enough times to do it.

The second was when I walked from my bedroom to the kitchen to meet up with Julian. Turns out my legs were in a bad mood too. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

The third was when I got there at 9:05 am and they had only been open for five minutes and the waiting room was already full.

Waddy fug? The only logical explanation is that a lot of people lined up before the place opened up and were lined up outside when they opened the doors.

So why the fuck did I get up so goddamned early? Son of a bitch.

You know when it was a lot less busy? NOON.

Which is about when I finally got to see the doctor.

Well, I graduated from the waiting room to an exam room, anyhow. Which was a real upgrade because I could lay down.

Way easier to be patient when you’re lounging in a hospital gown on an exam table instead of sitting in an uncomfy chair surrounded by crying children.

That waiting room was a little rough on my nerves.

Oh right…. the fourth and last time I was tempted to quit was about ten minutes before I was called in. I’d been waiting for three hours and I was getting very tired.

So I was going to ask one of the receptionists if she could tell me how much longer it would be, and if she could not, ask to be taken out of the queue,

Thank goodness I never got around to it.

Finally, I got to see Doctor Michelle Lee, my new hero.

Because she got right down to business, asked all the right questions, did the relevant neuromuscular tests, and referred me to the spine team at VGH.

All in about 15 minutes.

Now why the fuck couldn’t that crock of a doc Doctor Chao do that? On like, the first time I went to see him about this shit months ago?

The difference is she cares.

And probably isn’t paid per patient visit.

Having told her of my sleep incontinence episodes, she also checked my “anal tone”.

Hey, don’t take that anal tone with me, pal!

Which was just a brief finger up the butt.

She also noted that my CT scan report showed that I had a compression fracture of my L4 vertebrae and damage to the surrounding area.

Guess Doc Chao didn’t read that far as it seems rather important.

That’s why she referred me to Spine Team Six. So they could determine whether or not that shit needed surgical intervention.

I am all for that if it might make my legs work again. As scary as spinal surgery sounds.

Never walking again sounds much, much worse.

Oh, and she noticed the ulcers on my legs and told me I need to get off my butt once an hour for at least five minutes.

I can manage that.

Oh, and get this : she told me I can double my dose of gabapentin, which as patient readers know I was thinking of doing anyway!

So all in all, I am very glad I went and saw it through.

Imagine, actual progress on my case, and all it took was bypassing Doc Chao.

I am going to start looking for a new GP.

More after the break.

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Thought I’d something more to say

It almost seems unfair that Pink Floyd could be that good musically AND lyrically. That song expresses British angst so simply and beautifully.

And, of course, depressingly. But so very well.

No one told you when to run
You missed the starting gun

pink floyd, “time”

That one cuts particularly deep for us “failure to launch” types. The ones who never really got their lives started. Who were not ready for the big bad world.

The little baby chicks who were booted out of the nest and did not fly fast enough.

Maybe because we were too cut off from our instincts. The little birdies that made it didn’t need to know why they did things. They didn’t need need a reason for anything they did. They just did what felt right, and that worked out great for them.

Because their instincts were correct. Doing what they said was 100 percent the right move at that point. So they survived.

Whereas those of us who did not make it were probably still wondering what the hell was happening when we crashed.

Sometimes nature knows what it’s doing. Sometimes your feelings are correct. Sometimes waiting for a clear, logical, sensible answer can kill you.

Or at the very least fuck up your development and leave you hopelessly broken.

Like when I was a teen. What do teens normally do? Go find a peer group. Try different social strategies to see what fits for them. Explore their sexuality. Have fun in way more like an adult style of play. Be moody, difficult, and sullen.

Why are they like this? Because their instincts are driving them to do the things they need to do in order to develop into adults.

Me, I was too “smart” for that, and thought doing all those things was “pointless”, and so I stayed home and kept entertaining myself and didn’t grow one tiny bit.

No wonder I feel like I am, at best, thirteen on a psychosocial scale.

Some days it feels more like I am three. I see and know and understand so much and yet none of that helps me grow as a person at all.

All I really get out of it is smug satisfaction that I understand things better than most people and see what they cannot and see more of the chess board and all that other cold intellectual comfort bullshit.

Well they might be ignorant compared to me, but they are healthy and happy and functional, and I am a living wreck dashed to pieces by the waves before I even lost sight of shore.

All in all, I would rather have what they have.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.