Saturday, December 30, 2006

Personal Assistant Kikkaido Message! Fourteen Battle

I am pleased to say that The Playboy of the Western World survived his final cardio assesment. You might recall that he momentarily died when he was injected with whatever heart accellerant crap they injected him with last time.

See, to me, the very fact that he is physically incapeable of the relatively gentle exercise needed kind of indicates that yes, there is a certain amount of cardiac stress already occurring here. But no, they wanted to be all scientific about it, so they sent him home (to stress out for three weeks about the upcoming do-over) made him starve for half a day beforehand (more stress) with no coffee or chocolate (inhumane levels of stress; I bought him a cheesecake) and then called him back in all early in the morning and shit so he could sit in the damn waiting room for half an hour after his procedure was scheduled AGAIN. And stress.

So we're cooling our heels, reading magazines together when I turned the page to reveal this advertisement: a big green wino monster with crap all dripping off it and huge block letters which say KISS ME I'M MUCUS!
We both went 'Aaaa!' and I tossed the magazine aside. The receptionist almost knocked her chair over.
Cardiac patients who jump and say 'Aaaa!' in the waiting room is probably one of the things she's trained to respond to as an emergency.

Finally they take him back, injected him with meth and shoved him in the easybake oven for twenty minutes and placed bets or whatever goes on back there. They wouldn't let me come back with him so I don't know. I'm left jitterbugging on the worlds most uncomfortable waiting room chairs reading back issues of People magazine so old that Jennifer and Brad are still together and thinking 'You stupid, stupid woman; thats BRAD FRICKEN PITT and you just let that run around off-leash like a dog at the park. Serves your moron ass right he ended up with Fishlips.'

He survives part one.
They roll him back out to the waiting room with a candybar and a bottle of water, and then 45 minutes later they DID IT ALL OVER AGAIN.
Twenty more minutes of wriggling and flumping from cheek to cheek on the giraffe legged cement chairs wondering if he's coming home in my car or the coroners van.

He survives part two.
And we hightail it out of there. And I mean he was banking up the corners up on two wheels like Dukes of Hazzard. I had to scamper up in front of him to open the doors and just impressed the hell out of myself; I can still scamper with the best of them. Dang.

Lunch at the Olde Englishe Halfe Timberede Lesbiane Bar. The waittress hadn't even fully greeted us before he looked at her over his glasses and cut her off. 'Coffee, honey' he said in regal tones. "It's been awhile. And SHE takes cream," he added, gesturing towards me.

I love this man.

Back to the Leopold. As I pull up to the porte cochere a lumpy old gent just wandered right out in front of the car and went lumbering cluelessly across my bow. " Oh that's Mr. Whatizface" says The Playboy. 'You can hit him.' He did look well insured. Still, Mr. Whatizface was a pretty solid looking chunk of geezer, and I drive a compact, so I asked if I could take a pass and The Playboy agreed.

All I can say is this better be the last time they pull this shit. His recent medical adventures are largely the result of his doctors not communicating with each other (I've seen it in action. Or not in action. Happening, anyway. Or not-oh fuck it.) All of them are trying out their pet theories one after the other. With my father-in-law as the subject, getting batted back and forth to various clinics and testing facilities like a well-insured ping pong ball with a walker, all covered with cotton balls and sticky tape. I mean come on. It's still a small town here, folks. Most of you see each other every day. Barring that there's email. What? Go old school then. None of these people can pick up a damn phone and arrange a conference call? What?
Welcome to Bellingham, home of the nations' C student medical school grads.
I SAY: Get over yourselves and do your fucking jobs.
You are pissing me OFF.
This you DO NOT WANT.


  1. Anonymous12:41 PM

    Apologies on behalf of my profession although I don't feel much affiliation with the American branch of dangerous docs.
    I have heard Us medics described as 'procedure-oriented',we in the NHS are 'best wait and see-oriented', not sure any of it makes much difference anyway.

  2. Anonymous4:02 PM

    You're right darlin'....I'd not like to be the one that made you mad! I'm sure I'd be scampering for the hills!

    You can comment under your own name now btw. did you not know that I have a link to you on my sidebar m'dear? :grin:

  3. realdoc: i know you understand; no slur intended. doctors here seem to be buying into this rigid 'flow chart' care model. which would be really efficient if they were dealing with something invariable, like rocks, instead of humans. grr!
    pam: i know. but i figured i'd do you the return courtesy of not blowing some curious reader of yours out of their socks. when the article's down a couple of pages i figure then I'll resume my avatar. if they want ol funky cooter info then they can damn well hunt for it.

  4. Sweet Christ on a Cracker, thank goodness all went well. I swear with the doctors it's all so hit or miss. And it seems they all could use a lesson in empathy and compassion. Gah.

    Well, regardless, glad it all turned out well. Best wishes on a happy and healthy new year for you and yours. Give the Goonybird many smooches.

  5. Anonymous3:57 AM

    Blimey , sounds a bit harsh..... but at least all turned out well.
    Happy New Year to you and yours , I am off out, to drink till I loose me trousers and then fall over :-)

  6. Anonymous9:10 AM

    that should have been lose me trousers ahem.
    And I like old fish lips....yum

  7. Playboy Schmayboy - no one can grind him down - I LOVE the way he ordered the coffee. A real man.

    Happy New Year your Firstness - have a good one. XX

  8. Is it the New Year yet?

  9. Anonymous2:00 AM

    Imma be honest. Too drunk to read the post.

    But I HAD to come by and wish you, MS FINE LADY a Happy 2007!

    I need coffee now.

  10. sometimes i think waiting is almost worse than the actual surgery. i've been on the waiting end more times than i care to count. it's terrible. i don't drink or smoke but when the waiting's over, i almost feel the need for both.

  11. p.s. i drove awaiting home b/c she was too drunk to realize the rear end she was slapping wasn't her hubby's. that and everyone was kiss happy. i had to leave before i was molested again.

  12. I've got to remember to cry out "Aaaaa" the next time I'm waiting to see the doc.

  13. So glad to hear all is (for the moment) well chez FN. May this be a portent for your 2007.

    No coffee! Please let me never be that sick.

  14. I can connect with this.I hate dentists I wish they'd treat people like they have feelings not just some machine to stick a tool in.
    They're procedure orianted alright but a little too much because they forget I'm in pain.
    I know they give novacaine for sympathy but do they have to stick it in my mouth why not my arm. That a person is sitting there in the chair, not an xray machine.
    It's not fun to be picked apart and feel like a failure of teeth.
    First nations if you look up I hate doctors or I hate dentists on the internet you wouldn't believe how many people feel that way.
    It helped me.
    I've had postramatic stress with nose doctors and dentists for a long time.

  15. Happy New Year, you boobalicious bloggin' queen, you!

    Glad to hear the Playboy got through it well. They did the same thing to my mother, who is in better shape than half the people my age that I know, and she damn near had a heart attack, herself. When are they going to get it that stress tests actually CAUSE massive stress?

    Personally, I am off to a specialist for a major round of testing (probably) at the end of the month after spending the last couple years avoiding it due to chronic doctor-related trauma. Wish me luck, and hope they don't kill me!

  16. happy new year, fn.

    i hear bitch-slapping errant doctors is a fine way to get a fresh year off to a flying start. why not give it a try?


  17. Anonymous7:04 PM

    Here's to the Playboy. That's a man who knows how to order his cafe, I love it. And certainly to better care for him from the docs.

    Happy New Year FN, best to you and the family in 2007.

  18. Glad to read you're both over that.
    The crap we read over the years in waiting rooms...a frightening thought. We should be able to flush the memory once in a while.