My arm hurts. It hurts a lot. See, my insurance will only cover bloodwork from a place called LabCorp. So, instead of having the pre-operative CBC and BMP performed at the hospital that will be hosting my upcoming surgery (more on that later), I had to slog into some piss-smelling barnyard of a lab (think your average urban plasma donation center), where I was snapped at, forced to hand over credit card information, and then had my arm so mangled by the lab tech that I fear the vein won't be usable come the 13th.
Speaking of the 13th, that's the day the surgery is set for. We did the MRI five days ago, and it showed exactly squat. No mass. My "primary care physician's" office called to tell me that in a chipper, upbeat voice, but what, are we three? Does it matter if it shows on the MRI or no when we can FEEL it? When it shows on the ultrasound? That's not GOOD news, it's CRAP news, because any answers I'd hoped to get from the MRI weren't realized. So I blew 45 minutes of my life jammed in a drainpipe with my poor back screaming so they could find . . . bupkiss.
Had an EKG today, too. That's good. A ten second sample--like that tells them a damned thing about my heart. My heart didn't choose that particular ten seconds to start throwing out the frequent PVCs, so what? Like the MRI, does that mean they're not there?
We got a puppy. I don't know if I posted about that, I'm having a tough time keeping things straight in my head. We've had him for a week and a day now. He's a little Cairn Terrier (think Toto), and we got him from a backwoods breeder up in Maryland. Nice folks, seemed kindly, but with an edge. A lot of "praise the lords" and "Jesus sent you" stuff. Messianic Jews, doncha know? We didn't mention that, if the lord sent us, he's got a twisted sense of humor, considering our atheism. Nah--why mess about with folks' faith? If it makes them happy and isn't in my legislation, why bother? That they almost certainly wouldn't have given us the puppy was another consideration. We named our little guy Charlie, and, for as drooly, pukey, trembly, and pissy as he was when we got him home, he's blossomed into a great little dog. Sean is very happy, and so is Tommy. Me? He's a great puppy, but I agreed to this because I made a promise to Sean, and, if things go to hell, I need to have at least come through on that front.
Forgive the typos. I'll read through later and correct. I'm tired, and it's grocery shopping time. Wish us luck on the housebreaking front, huh?