First off, the medical update.

It’s so nice to have actual events in my life to talk about!

Anyhow. made it to the hospital ER by around 9:15 am. Was supposed to be there at 8:30 am, technically, but luckily the wound care nurse Maria (who is awesome, btw) and Doctor Vortel (whose name sounds like a telecom company from the 90’s) were both still there, no harm done.

Place was a total zoo, though. Absolutely packed. SO many people, in fact, that I had to take my IV antibiotics in a hallway, instead of the usual waiting room.

Makes me wonder if they knew what they were doing when they came up with this once a day IV antibiotics dealie.

And I did not like being in the hallway because it meant that nurses were constantly moving around me to get stuff and I hate that.

That’s why when I am in a restaurant, I always take a seat against the wall. That way, I don’t have customers and waitstaff passing behind me all the time.

OK, back to first positions.

I arrive at the ER, sit for a little while, then Maria moves me into one of the exam rooms so she can work on my wound.

Like I said above, she really is awesome. Kind, gentle. genuinely worried about hurting you, very careful as she works.

Plus she seems like one of those tough girls from the other side of the tracks of which I am awfully fond.

She cut some more dead stuff off of the wound, and managed to create a “tunnel” to the one little infected area she was worried about.

That hurt like fuck. Worst pain since the first night. I am glad it got done because I am keenly interested in getting ALL of the infection out., but holy smokes that hurt.

I think I know what it feels like to be part of a shishkebab now.

After that, this Doctor Vortel dude saw me for all of like, 45 seconds before hastily mumbling something about seeing me again in a week then dashed out like his dick was on fire.

So it seems that doctors who have never even met me before and know nothing about who I am as a person nevertheless will rush through my appointment so they can get to treating someone who is actually worthwhile

Or at least worth noticing.

They sense weakness in me, I suppose.

And I am serious when I say this guy was in a hurry. His whole attitude was ‘Yes, yes, whatever you say, uh huh, goodbye!”

I’ve got more personal interaction from a toll booth operator.

And I am getting really sick of that shit. If only the doctors were as nice as the nurses. All the nurses I have dealt with have been wonderful.

Come to think of it, my admitting doctor, Doctor Low-Beer (seriously), was great too.

Gee, what did they all have in common…. oh right, they were women.

I’ve had a few male nuses too, and they were fine, but they were nowhere near as warm and reassuring to me as nurses like Maria and Megan.

That might be me, though. When men deal with men, there is always an element of competive insanity that keeps us from really trusting one another, EVEN in a situation where that makes no sense.

And damn that sucks. There’s a bit of social programming I would gladly delete.

So anyhow, after Maria cleaned up my wound and I briefly caught a glimpse of Doctor Vortel’s afterimage (they say he is more legend than man now), I was moved into the frigging hallway for my IV antibiotics.

And that’s where I spend time in a very personal hell because I wasn’t there very long when I realized I really need to pee.

Now for someone without social anxiety, this is a no-brainer. You either just go to the bathroom dragging the IV setup on its little wheels behind you. or you ask a nurse if it’s okay if you do that, she says yes, and you go do it.

But not me. I was trapped. I could not summon up the wherewithal to ask a nurse and I was far too timid to unplug the thing from the wall and do it myself.

So I ended up just sitting there willing the IV to go faster as my bladder ached for release and made me downright miserable.

This is the sort of thing that is very hard to get across to people who don’t have or don’t understand social anxiety. They can’t imagine what it is like to be absolutely frozen to the spot by anxiety and that leading to things like my situation that make no sense.

Unless you’ve experienced it yourself, you really don’t get it.

Eventually, the fucking thing was done and I was released from my imprisonment. I went to the bathroom and took a damned good piss, then took the bus home.

I took a cab to get there, though. I was in a hurry and it helped me psychologically by removing a hurdle and making things just that little bit easier.

Little things like that can make a huge difference. Depression creates enormous invisible barriers to action and removing even one of those barriers can be the key to getting things done.

I wish I got more things done.

I think I am the sort of person who would take pride in accomplishments more than anything else. I need to feel like I have really done something.

Depression keeps me from doing stuff, though. At least, it has so far,. The closest thing I have to real accomplishments is beating video games.

And that’s no real substitute. Video games are good at making me feel like I am doing something and getting somewhere, but I am not, and I know it.

At least Sisyphus got a good solid workout out of rolling that rock every day.

Me, I’ll just get sicker and sicker until I die.

So…. yay me.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.