Calling Uriah

Heap, that is. I went in for follow-up blood work on Monday morning, looking a hell of a lot better. Swelling gone. Still itching but able to put forth a decent "face."

Started off with vials of blood being drawn. Did I mention that I hate needles and they're taking a boatload of my blood on an empty stomach? Then I'm off for a bone density test. " Miz Gwen, the scan shows that you're a borderline risk for spinal or hip fracture should you fall." No kidding. And I have to pay for this information? I'm 60 years old and know this. This is why I try my damnedest not to fall. Okay, I'll add more yogurt, etc., to the diet.

Down the hall for the follow-up. I swanee, it is Charles Dickens' Uriah Heap. Let me clarify. He looked as I imagined Uriah would look: tall; gangly; sparse hair; bespectacled. And I don't want him to treat me again. Back to Dr. Z, please.

We got off on the wrong foot when I asked that they also test for trichinosis when they did the lab work. His back went up instantly. Tried to smooth the feathers by stating that I'd never spent a moment in med school but having figured out what caused this incident and doing a little computer work, I'd like to be on the safe side. "We don't treat trichinosis with steroids." Really? WebMD cites the prescriptions you gave me as medications used. Oh, GB, when will you learn to keep your mouth shut? Out of the office in a huff; back with Dr. Z. I'd diagnosed myself. Not. I only asked that this be considered as a cause. Oh, well.

An hour and a half later, we've covered a range of topics (can you hear the cash register) and I'm promising to make future appointments for the obligatory tests, stress, pap, mammograms, yada yada. And I will. But let me get through this first. In addition to a humongous doctor's bill (because I have an enormous deductible), I'm facing a huge electric bill. Tried to explain to him that I work for Wally and the funds aren't stretching for a series of tests at the moment.

Came home to catch a nap before going in at 5. That's right, I'd pulled a 5-11 shift. Been up since 6 a.m. Eyes wide open. Now, one of the side effects to the pills is sleeplessness. I was up until 5 a.m. on TUESDAY morning. Get real. Needless to say, there was a personnel meeting in Jackson on Tuesday, meaning leave the house at 7:45 a.m., and I just knew that I would nod off in the middle of it. NOT! I didn't go to sleep until 11 p.m. Tuesday night. What IS in the medicine that they are giving you?

And, I'm still scratching. Not swollen. Very little appetite but anything I eat intensifies the itching. And, Lord, don't let it be acidic. But I've got the answer. Off tomorrow and going old school. We are flushing the system.

When I went in on Monday evening, I learned that a woman had been hit by a truck going too fast in front of the store just prior to my arrival. She was medivacked to Memphis. Hope she survived. Since I wasn't in the store yesterday, I don't have the update.

The meeting was interesting but the behavior was the focal point. One of the stores was asked to provide refreshments. Candy, chips, juice and water. The person who brought the goodies took a seat in front of the candy at our table and systematically ate her way through each piece of chocolate in front of her. Systematically. One piece after the other. I don't think one piece had been digested before she was unwrapping another piece. After a while, you wanted to slap her hands the way you do a child's when they reach for the next piece. And I don't have to tell you that she was heavy, right?

Took the moment to let the regional director know that I wasn't getting any hours in personnel. Or anywhere else for that matter. Excuse me. How am I going to be held responsible for the duties of the position and I don't get to work the position? Pulleeze.

Checking out. I've got the evening shift...again.