If that still says “Another heart pun”, it means I couldn’t think of one. Sorry.

So I went to Urgent Care. The sign says take a number. I look around. The thing with the numbers in it is nowhere to be seen. Julian can’t find it either.

Thank goodness there was a father waiting with an infant in his arms who was kind enough to tell me that they take the numbers away when they are at capacity and can’t take any more patients.

Which is blatantly retarded without a sign telling people that. How was I to know?

So off to the ER we went.

I was waiting in line at reception and taking advantage of my outdoor walker’s (aka my rollator’s) built in capacity to be used as a seat when the person ahead of me in line moved and I wanted to move with her.

So I thought, “this thing has four wheels. Why get up, when I can just push with my feet and rollate the short distance?”

Snap! Oh, so that’s why. Because if you do that, it snaps the bolt holding one of the front wheels on, and now you’re fucked.

And how was I to know THAT?

Luckily, when you’re an enormous fat dude complaining of chest pains in the ER, you tend to get seen pretty quickly. So I was out of the waiting room and admitted to the ward in record time.

And the hospital has plenty of fit young people to go get me a wheelchair and push me around in it.

So I am admitted to the ward but end up on a gurney in the hallway. Tough luck for me. Doesn’t really bother me much.

I can ignore the people going by easily enough.

The good news : everything checked out fine. Bloodwork was good. EKG reported no problems. Chest X-ray was A-OK.

Glad I went, though. Better to go there when I didn’t need to than to end up one of these guys whose last words on Earth are, “Eh, it’s just heartburn. ”

Which it probably is. Once actual cardiac issues were ruled out, that became the leading theory. The doctor gave me a prescription to help with that.

An acid blocker, I presume. Antacids are so pre-millennial.

The one problem I have with that is that it still feels to me like someone is holding my heart in their hand, loosely but firmly.

Oh well., I’ve done what I could. I am still going to be taking things nice and slow and gentle until I am sure my ticker can take it.

If I have a heart attack at this point, at least it will be a medical mystery.

I find that oddly reassuring.

Spent most of the wait time in the ER (around 5 hours) playing games on my tablet and snoozing. There was the usual annoying complications that come with trying to use my tablet while there’s a blood pressure cuff on my left arm and blood oxygen reader on one of the fingers of my right hand.

But whatever. I got through it.

And then all I had to do was get home.

Um yeah…. about that.

More after the break.

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The saga of the return, or there and… back again?

So there I was, with a clean bill of health from the ER doc^[1], ready to put my clothes back on and call Joe and tell him I’m ready to be picked up.

First, I need a phone. One of the nurses fetches me the portable phone they give to patients in the ER.

Mine is not the only one still in use, it seems.

And it sucks. Very hard to use. Took me forever to even figure out how to hang up.

Screw you, Panasonic!

Anyhow, I call Joe. It goes straight to voice-mail.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I try again. Voicemail. And again. Voice-mail.

I admit that I thought some unkind things about Joe at this point. My ever simmering feelings of abandonment and neglect boiled over.

Totally unjustified, as it turns out.

So I call Julian, even though I know he is at his parents’ place for Thanksgiving dinner. He agrees to call Joe on the land line and tell him I need to be picked up. And he will tell Joe I am going to call him on the land line soon.

I hang up, and brood for a bit.

I call back around five minutes later to see how the convo with Joe went.

Julian says he got through to Joe’s cellular no problem. Figures.

He says Joe is on his way and that apparently Joe’s phone was automatically blocking the hospital’s number.

Wut de fug?

My brain then completely misplaced the fact that he’s on his way, and I revert to “call him on the land line”, and I therefore keep dialing the land line because apparently my mind reverted to the previous instruction.

For the second time that day, I am mad at Joe for no good reason.

Eventually I do get him on his cell. Turns out that he had shown up at the ER with my other (not meant for outdoor use) walker but the receptionist said they have no record of me so he left in confusion.

My call brought him back.

Apparently, once a patient is released, they stop existing according to the system.

So Joe is on his way back and I have a problem.

I can’t walk without a walker (hence the name). but I have to get out of the ward and on to the waiting room for Joe to be able to find me.

I then wage war with my assertiveness issues for a while.

I’d love to say I won, but in fact, my nurse noticed I was still here and asked me what the problem was.

I was CRAZY grateful for that.

She arranges for me to be transported via the now standard “travel” wheelchair to the waiting arms of the waiting room.

When I get there, Joe is once more trying to get a clue as to my location from the very unhelpful lady at reception.

We hook up, and I finally get to go home. The end.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.