The Waiting Room Is The Hardest Part

Friday was the long-dreaded day of my annual doctor (nurse practitioner) appointment. I hate anything that disturbs my routine. I hate being around sick people. I pretty much just hate being around PEOPLE.

Farmer H dropped me off at the door. It's only the second time I've been to this new facility. Of course Farmer H said he remembered how to get there. It's just behind the old facility that was connected to the hospital. Funny how I had told Farmer H the street name. Yet he still drove past it, and pulled into an apartment complex EXACTLY like the last time he took me, and had to turn around. 

THEN Farmer H drove past the turn into the parking lot of the new facility. Even though you could see the road, and all the cars in the lot, and the building. Luckily there was a half-circle area past it, like half of a cul de sac turnaround.

"I'm sure they put this here just for YOU!"

"Maybe. Or everybody else that drives by looking for the entrance." [Yeah, right]

At least the patients were not elbow-to-elbow in the waiting chairs. I checked in, and only needed to hand over my insurance card for a picture. I sat down and balanced my cane while waiting. I got there at 8:40 for my 9:00 appointment. Had time for the bathroom before check-in. I got called back by 9:00, and was weighed and vital-ed by a wonderful young gal who said she'd been working there for four months. Said she's the one who answers requests for the NP on YourChart. Which made me feel more at ease, knowing there's a real person who does that.

I might as well have had a drive-thru appointment. NP, while his usual friendly self, did not spend any extra time on me. Listened to heart, lungs, and belly. Not even a scope up my nose or in my ear! He DID agree to set me up with a KNEE APPOINTMENT, which I asked for in March. I don't wanna be dealing with it in snow and ice and cold. Then he pointed me to the lab scheduling area for bloodwork.

I was given a little slip of paper with my name and birthdate, and sent back out to the waiting room to schedule my lab. It's a separate desk. A man was in front of the two gals sitting behind computer screens.There was a lady behind him. She shuffled over to the side, and I hobbled around to get behind her. She was pecking around on her cell phone. The man left to sit down and wait. That Lady just stood there. Looking at her phone. 

After a bit, I went around her. I looked at her, to ask if she was in line, but the look on her face did not encourage communication. She was busy with that phone! The gal behind the counter looked at me. Looked at That Lady. Said, "Ma'am, are you in line?" That Lady came to life. "Yes. I am." 

Well. I guess Mrs. HM is the rumpushole here. To save face, I said, "I THOUGHT she was in line, but she didn't move. I guess I'll just walk back around behind her again." And hobbled, leaning perhaps a bit too heavily, on my cane. Far be it for Mrs. HM to let a good opportunity for passive-aggressivism go to waste!!!

Turns out Phoney couldn't be bothered to wait. Upon being told she had 7 people ahead of her, she said she would reschedule, because she had to get to work. So I had 7 people ahead of me instead of 8. Except that was a low-down dirty lie! I sat there time after time as the lab door opened up, and assorted workers called individuals by their name, adding "...for the lab." 

I was ready to spring up out of my chair after the 7th person had been called. But no. It was not until after the 13th labby had gone back that I finally got my turn. She was young, friendly, and a WONDERFUL phlebotomist! I didn't even feel the needle poke in. It made a strange gurgling sound as the tube started filling. I hope I don't have an air bubble waiting to kill me! But the stick was painless, no blood on the gauze, no knot. I told her how great she was, and she said, "Thank you. I get a lot of practice here!"

I was released to sweave back home with Farmer H. But for some reason, I have my next appointment in 6 months.

Rumpusholes Also Come In Assorted Forms

Mrs. HM does not shy away from calling a rumpushole a rumpushole. While the guy I encountered on Tuesday in 10Box might not be a textbook-variety rumpushole, something about his behavior led me to pointing the rumpushole finger.

I got out of T-Hoe and walked across the front doors of the store, to reach a cart that somebody had left on the sidewalk. It was closer than hiking to the cart corral inside the store. A guy walked down the sidewalk in my direction, carrying a baby in a car seat. I first thought he might be heading for the cart I wanted, but he grabbed another one closer to him, farther down the sidewalk.

As sometimes (annoyingly) happens, I encountered that dude at the end of every aisle. He was mid-20s, in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. The baby looked around 6 months old. A smiling little thing with a head of dark hair, holding some toy and putting it in his/her mouth. Here's the thing...

That adorable baby was sitting in its car seat in the main section of the cart. Facing the child seat and handle of the cart. But The Dude was pulling the cart from the front! What kind of psycho does THAT? It's awkward as Not-Heaven! Hard to drag that cart around corners. NO INTERACTION AT ALL WITH THE BABY!

What was this guy's problem? Does he think shopping and taking care of a baby is woman's work? I assume it was his baby. Why else would he have one? Especially since it seemed to be an embarrassment to him. How can you ignore a happy little baby? At least let the baby watch your face, and be reassured that you are there. Don't let it glide along in the cart, seeing only ceiling and assorted shelves, wondering where its caretaker is!

I guess we should be glad The Dude didn't leave that baby in his truck.

Do-Gooders Come In Assorted Forms

I've been shopping for Christmas supplies this week. I don't want a big list to buy all at once. That is too much effort for my not-nimble knees. Every day or two, I stop by Save A Lot or 10Box for a few things. I have a nice bone-in Brown Sugar Baked Ham. And all of my Chex Mix fixin's. And enough Oreos and mix for three cakes. The perishable foods have to wait.

Anyhoo... on Monday I pulled up to 10Box, first handicap space to the right of the door. A man was standing out front. Kind of lurking. Maybe smoking. He looked like Smokey Lonesome in Fried Green Tomatoes. Like a guy kind of down on his luck. Just a scroungy kind of man, though not giving off any menacing vibes, or begging. 

"Your lights are on!"

I was sliding out of T-Hoe.

"Your lights are on, ma'am. Your lights are on!"

"Yes. They'll go off in a minute. I have those daytime running lights. I can't turn them off! They come on every time I start the car, and go off on their own when I turn it off. But thank you!"

"You're welcome. I just didn't want your battery to go down."

Such a nice guy, trying to help me avoid undue hardship.

On Tuesday, as I wheeled my cart/walker full of cereal and nuts and garlic salt and garlic powder to the checkout, and old man was approaching from the other side. I wasn't sure if he was coming across the front aisle, or headed for the register. I had been the length of the store. He had only been through produce and cereal and canned goods. I didn't know if he was done shopping. I proceeded to get in line. He got in line behind me. Then another man got in line.

"Here, you go ahead me," said Old Man to the Other Dude.

"No, that's fine. I'm okay."

"I don't mind. God has blessed me with this day, and I'm spreading the joy."

"Really, it's okay. But I can go ahead if you want. And if they call someone else up, you can jump over and be first."

So a compromise was reached, neither taking advantage of the other. Indeed, a young man WAS called to the front, and Old Man moved to that register. The Universe's reward, I suppose. He bagged his groceries alongside me, and followed me out the door.

"Isn't this a beautiful day?"

"Yes! I'm really enjoying the sun. I'm afraid it's not going to last long!"

"It might not. But we have today. God bless you ma'am."

"And you too."

I don't particularly care for people showering me with their religion, but I'm not going to complain about it. Old Man was strong in his beliefs, meant well, and wasn't hurting anybody.

Not every day is full of rumpusholes.

Things Are Back To Normal Around The Mansion

I was starting to feel like I am living in Fantasyland, and not Hillmomba! Farmer H got T-Hoe fixed. He brought home a heated water bowl and bag of cedar shavings for Jack. He put new batteries in my garage door opener and T-Hoe's clicker. He gave me that giant box of chocolates for our anniversary, plus a card with a handwritten message!!!

Last night, that gravy train came screeching to a halt. The phonograph needle scratched the record. The other shoe dropped. The party is over.

I was getting Farmer H's supper warmed up. It was BBQ pulled pork on hot dog buns, with a side of potato coins. So simple. You might imagine that even a hick could do it... 

I know better.

The potato coins were in the oven at 425 degrees, almost ready, just crisping the edges. The BBQ pulled pork was in a glass bowl in the microwave. I set out a plate for Farmer H on the cutting block. I set the package of hot dog buns on top. Surely I don't need to do EVERYTHING for him! I didn't want the buns to get stale sitting on the plate. I had drained three flat pickle slices. They were singly a little short to fit on the bun, so I cut the third one in half to fill in.

"Hey! Will you want the ketchup? In a ramekin, or will you put it on the plate? Will you use a fork, or your hands?"

Farmer H said he'd put ketchup on his plate, and that he'd use a fork for the potato coins. I laid a fork across the top of the bun package, and set out the ketchup bottle, along with a paper towel. I heard Farmer H groan in getting up from his recliner.

"My eye itches! I'm going to put in my eye drops."

"Okay. Then you can some get your buns ready."

Welp! Here came Farmer H directly to the kitchen!

"What are you doing here? I thought you were putting in eye drops."

"Oh. Well. I was going to. Didn't you say it's ready?"

"Yeah, I said AFTER your eye drops. But you can go ahead. I just had another 30 seconds on the BBQ." 

I turned the microwave on as Farmer H stepped up to the cutting block. Over my shoulder, I heard something hit the floor.

"What was that?"

"My fork. I didn't see it on the buns."

I resisted the urge to ask, "ARE YOU BLIND?" Because he is. In one eye. I saw Farmer H put the package of buns away. Baby steps! As I turned sideways to take the potato coins out of the oven, I saw Farmer H's plate. It held one bun, and two half-buns. Ripped in half, across the middle.

"What in the Not-Heaven?"

"It tore when I was getting out my buns."

"I guess I need to do EVERYTHING for you! Next I'll have to cut up your food and feed it to you!"

"I can get my food, HM. Just not the way YOU want me to."

"Just not the way a NORMAL person would do it, you mean..."

I used my oven mitts to take the glass bowl of BBQ pulled pork out of the microwave and set it on the cutting block beside Farmer H's plate. He was busy putting one flat pickle on his regular bun, the other flat pickle on the big half of his torn bun, a half flat pickle onto the small half of his torn bun, and the other half flat pickle into his mouth.

"This bowl is HOT! It will burn you. DO NOT touch the bowl."

Farmer H looked at me like I was crazy.

We all know I saved him from a trip to the burn ward.

Mrs. HM Feels Bamboozled

I have a yearly doctor appointment later this week. Now that I am older and decrepit-er, and have less insurance, I am suddenly healthy enough to only be seen annually, rather than twice a year! Fine with me. I'm pretty sure they called to schedule this appointment with me way back in mid-summer. I said that was pretty far ahead and I'd forget, but the gal assured me I'd get reminders.

Anyhoo... I got my reminder, even though I remembered the day, since it happens to be Genius's birthday. I was within a half hour on the time. The thing that annoys me about the reminder is that I had to log into YourChart to see the actual date and time of my appointment. C'mon! Don't tell me that's the safest way to do it! Medical records get hacked all the time. I don't see how emailing me the day and time of an appointment is so dangerous.

Anyhoo... I logged into YourChart. I have to do that on HIPPIE, not my phone, because they always want something else. Like to complete an eCheck-In before my appointment. You know Mrs. HM. She toes the line. Follows (most) laws and instructions. So HIPPIE and I spent 45 minutes, on 5 screens, updating information and e-signing forms. Whew! That was almost as stressful as an appointment.

With a sign of relief, I clicked that final button. And got the message that I might be asked to complete additional paperwork when I arrived.

Horse Pills For The Pony

After switching Errand Day from Thursday to Friday, due to frigid temperatures, I was looking forward to seeing The Pony. Alas, The Pony was feeling under-the-weather, and declined my standing invitation.

"I have a really bad headache that won't go away. My head is stuffy, and my poop stomach is upset. I don't feel like going. Maybe I shouldn't have tried that new spicy food yesterday."

I went on about my business, not wanting to shame The Pony into going along. I was sure I could pump my own gas before the paid-for pump shut off. I'd just have to use a different Casey's bathroom before going to get gas. Or go before paying, which usually doesn't work out, because a giant line seems to form while I'm out of sight of the previously empty counter.

Anyhoo... The Pony was sorry to leave me in the lurch. I got a text the next morning.

"Mystery solved. I'm sick with something. Sore throat this morning and a bit of cough. Phwegh."

Of course I called The Pony. I don't have my helicopter working, but T-Hoe has been refurbished. I offered to drop off some vitamins that Farmer H and I take, which have seemed to keep such ailments away. We prefer the gummy version which includes elderberry, but they are out of stock. The Pony had some, but used them up a month or so ago. Now all we have are giant horsepill capsules. The Pony eschewed them back then, but now said they were worth a try. They have Vitamin C, Vitamin D, Zinc, and Quercetin. 

"I'll give you seven days' worth. Take one at night and one in the morning. We just take one a day, unless we get sick. Which Dad has before, and said he got over it in three days when he doubled up on the vitamins."

So off I went to take horsepills to The Pony. Who was having a hard time deciding on what to disguise them with for swallowing. The considerations were peanut butter, jelly, pudding, ice cream. I'm not sure which was chosen, and if it was a success.

A Near-Hit At The Sis-Town Casey's

What's with people referring to a near-miss accident? Like two planes almost colliding mid-air, or two cars almost crashing into each other? What they really mean is a near-hit! If it was truly a near-miss, then the collision would have happened!

Anyhoo...we're not talking about planes. And only partially about automobiles. We're here to play the world's tiniest violin in sympathy for Mrs. HM, who was the victim of a near-hit at the Sis-Town Casey's on Friday.

The cold weather put my errand day on hold until Friday. The Pony couldn't go. The Pony, perhaps, could have saved me from this near-catastrophe. 

Casey's was a bit busy, but Pump 3 was available. I parked T-Hoe, and began the trek across the parking lot to pre-pay. I usually have The Pony walking along beside me, consciously trying to rein in those long strides. I was halfway across, in no-mom's-land, when a lady got into a small black SUV that was parked in the handicap space, to the left of the handicap striped walkway to the sidewalk ramp.

Lady started backing out, swinging the rear of her small black SUV in my direction. AND SHE KEPT BACKING! I stopped, but she kept coming! I'm not a fast-enough hobbler to rush across before being hit. I was afraid I would fall. I tried backing up my own self. Still slow, but it feels better to my knees. I was getting really worried. I made it backwards about 5-7 steps.

Good thing it was a small car. The rear bumper was about six feet from me when she stopped, put it into DRIVE, and went forward to leave the lot. Such a relief! I can't believe she didn't even look before she started backing. Either her backup beeper wasn't working, or she just didn't care! This small black SUV was newer than T-Hoe. It might have even had a backup camera. A-Cad has one, and A-Cad is a 2016 model.

Anyhoo... that little adventure got my heart racing. I was imagining myself flat on the pavement, with tires running over me.