Posted tagged ‘doctor’

“Never go to a doctor whose office plants have died.”

October 15, 2021

Today is cool at 63˚ though it is supposed to get a bit warmer. The forecast is partly cloudy, but the sky is covered in clouds. The breeze is slight. I think it is a sweatshirt day.

I made a list of stuff I want to get done, and I’ve already crossed off one of the biggest tasks: bringing the bags of litter to the car. Gwen, being diabetic, uses the cat box to the extreme. I clean it every day and empty it far sooner than I used to. The used litter bags are heavy. I almost fell down the stairs the last time I carried some to the car. This time I used my cart. It was filled and so very heavy I could only take it one step at a time down the stairs. I pushed it near the car where it sits until I can load the car later.

Today is shot day. I’m getting flu, pneumonia and shingles. They are my first pneumonia and shingles shots. The flu I skipped last year. I was in the house all flu season.

When I was a kid, we only went to the doctor if something was wrong or when we needed shots. The doctor’s office was right beside the driveway to the school parking lot and was in a big old house. His office was on the first floor. I remember sitting and waiting on a bench and looking around the hall outside the doctor’s office. There was a tall stairway with wooden stairs and a carved newel post. I remember how shiny the wood looked. The doctor’s office was at the front of the house. I remember he had a complete skeleton hanging off a hook. His desk was huge as was the doctor. He had one of those giant bellies men sometimes get. I remember he wore a vest and a doctor’s white coat, a coat so small I figured he could never button it across his belly. When I was around 10, I went to see him after I had fallen down the stairs. It was the morning after the fall. He wasn’t gentle. He cleaned the cut by scrubbing it with a gauze pad. It hurt. It hurt a lot. I was thrilled when I didn’t get stitches as the cut was already infected so the doctor slathered something on the cut, covered it with gauze and sent me on my way.

In Ghana, I had scratched an itchy mosquito bite on the top of my foot until it bled. It got infected. I went to the Peace Corps doctor in Accra. He was a good guy. He gave me two options: he could cut it and drain it or he could put antiseptic on it under a gauze pad. He told me the gauze pad would take 5 or 6 days until the cut was healed. Draining it would only mean a few days until it healed. I had him drain the infection. It hurt. Afterwards, he told me it would take 5 or 6 days until it was healed enough. I was a bit surprised as he had told me a few days. He admitted he lied figuring that was the only way I’d have it cut and drained. He was right.

P.S. I went to the deck a bit ago, and there was my stolen African statue just lying there. It didn’t even have bite marks. I hope Nala brings back the tagine next.

“Violence isn’t a Democrat or Republican problem. It’s an American problem, requiring an American solution.”

February 15, 2018

Last night it rained. I heard it when I was in bed, and it was still raining when I fell asleep. Today is the aftermath of the rain, a cloudy, dismal and damp day. I’m glad I have nowhere to go.

The furnace was fixed by the time my house was down to 56˚. Maddie stayed beside me on a section of the afghan. Her fur was chilly to the touch. It didn’t take long for the furnace to start blowing that wonderful hot air.

My arm still hurts. I yelp out loud. The worst was on Tuesday when I ordered food delivery, clam chowder and a BLT. I couldn’t get the top off the chowder. I tried to do it one handedly. The top didn’t move. I tried my scissors but my left hand had no idea how to use scissors. I finally used a church key. That worked. I have learned I am totally inept without my right arm. I have an appointment with an orthopedic doctor on Tuesday.

When I was a kid, we did duck and cover to protect ourselves from an atomic blast. We ducked under our desks or against the walls in the corridor. When I started teaching in the high school, we did fire drills. We left our belongings in our rooms and followed the arrows outside. We waited for the all call to go back inside. The drills were timed. Much later we did shelter in place drills. The teachers locked doors, put out the lights, drew the blinds, covered the door window and directed students to go to the safest spots in the classrooms. They then waited for the all clear. Kids did what they were supposed to but  many didn’t take the drills all that seriously. Needing them seemed remote. That’s no longer the case. Schools have become targets. Since Columbine, 150,000 students in 170 schools have experienced school gun violence. President Trump has continued to say mass shootings are a “mental-health problem,” not a gun problem yet he signed a measure into law that rescinded an Obama-era rule aimed at blocking gun sales to certain mentally ill people. He rescinded the law because it violated due process. I don’t know what to say except it only happens here.

“I recently went to a new doctor and noticed he was located in something called the Professional Building. I felt better right away. “

March 30, 2017

Today is a New England spring day. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, and it’s in the mid-40’s. The weatherman calls this seasonable. I call it chilly.

Yesterday was a busy day for me. I was out and about early. I had a doctor’s appointment at 9:30 so I slept on the downstairs couch and set an Alexa alarm to wake me up. She did just fine. The doctor has decided my back needs to be looked at again. He used his knee hammer on my right leg five or six times before it reacted with that quick kick. “Something’s wrong with this knee,” was his professional opinion based on years of schooling followed by years of doctoring. I tell him about that knee every year, and every year he schedules tests which show nothing. This year we’ll do another MRI on my back.

When I was a kid, we never had regularly scheduled visits to doctors or dentists. We went only for apparent pain or injury. I remember seeing the doctor a day or two after I fell down the stairs when I was ten. I remember that doctor well. Pain sometimes does that: etches an event into a memory which dims but never disappears. That doctor, the one with no bedside manner, cleaned my chin gash quickly and painfully.

I remember sitting with my mother and then being called into the doctor’s office. It was huge with high ceilings and lots of wood around doors and windows. The office was in the front downstairs room of his house. The doctor was huge with the sort of big belly some old men seem to get. He always wore a vest with suspenders underneath. The desk was wooden and befitting a huge man. He had a skeleton hanging near his desk. That fascinated me. He checked the gash then cleaned it as if he were cleaning tile grout and then put a butterfly bandage on it. He told my mother it needed stitches, but the cut had become infected in the day or two since the fall so he couldn’t close it. I was thrilled. I didn’t care if that cut stayed opened forever. All I cared about was no stitches.

I loved my first dentist. He always used gas so I never felt any pain, but my father made me switch from that painless, expensive, dentist to a really old, cheap, dentist who didn’t even use novocaine. I swear his drill was a pedal model like the old sewing machines. I remember gripping the chair arms so hard I must have left finger impressions. He soured me on dentists for a long time, but I had to have all dental work finished before I went to Peace Corps staging in Philadelphia. I faced my bête noire and was triumphant. At the dental check in Philadelphia,  I was perfect, good to go.

I figure if my back is my only complaint, I can manage. I can still be good to go.

“It’s true, I’ve become one of those grumpy older women.”

November 10, 2015

This morning I had a meeting at 9. When I got home, I went back to bed and slept almost three hours. The clouds and the dampness don’t seem to engender high spirits and frivolity. I’m tired and I’m grouchy, and I pity anyone who crosses my path. Luckily, though, I’m in for the day so the rest of the world is safe from me.

Working in a high school meant dealing with people, mostly teenagers, all day long. I was generally pleasant but occasionally had one of those days. When I did, the news about my mood spread like wildfire among the kids. They knew this was not a day to be tossed from class. This was a day to walk on egg shells and be especially polite.

Nothing will be accomplished by me today. The laundry sits in the hall as testament to my lack of energy and my lack of interest. The other day I went through the closet to find all my winter hats and mittens. I knocked down some games, some books and a couple of coats. I found almost everything except two mittens are singles. Somewhere are the other two. I, however, choose not to tackle the closet again as I expect that what I put back is tenuous and might just fall again. Usually I would be obsessed with the need to rejoin the couples. Not today!

I do have some napkins which need to be ironed. They have been piled on the desk chair for a few months, okay maybe even a bit longer than that. I’m thinking I might just iron them today. It’s an easy task, unlike the laundry which necessitates up and down stairs a few times then folding the clothes and putting them away. With the napkins I can sit down and use my table as an ironing board. I can even watch TV. This day might just go down in the annals as one filled with accomplishment.

Tomorrow I have a doctor’s appointment. He’s keeping an eye on my cholesterol and checks it every six months. When he asks me how I’ve been feeling, I don’t think he’ll take grouchy as an answer, but I might just give it to him anyway. After all, he did ask.

“I love zombies. If any monster could Riverdance, it would be zombies.”

April 1, 2014

This has been a busy morning. First was a follow-up doctor’s appointment in Hyannis then the optometrist in South Yarmouth to get my glasses fixed. The easy part was putting them back together. The difficult part was trying to straighten out the ear pieces. They were all bent from my fall into the roots. All went well. Next was getting the dog license and paying my car excise tax, both at the Dennis town hall. Last was a stop for bread, some fruit and a cupcake. It was there I dropped the new dog license and it disappeared. Three people looked and it was nowhere to be found. We figured it bounced onto shelf or was somehow transported to a parallel world.

The sun was out for five minutes. My glasses even tinted, but it clouded up again. I am the little girl in Ray Bradbury’s All Summer in a Day. The clouds are on their fourth day. Today is cold, in the high 30’s.

Zombies have taken over. Vampires are passé. Zombies are far uglier and fairly difficult to kill though they are already dead. Usually a bullet to the head or lopping off the head means a permanent end to the zombie. Today I watched Detention of the Dead. High schoolers in detention have to fight ravenous zombies who have taken over their school. It was actually funny, sort of a zombie ridden Breakfast Club.

Aliens and monsters have a heyday then disappear. No more are we attacked by creatures like the giant ants created by the nuclear blasts of the fifties. Tokyo is no longer a fun target for Godzilla and his kin. The space station doesn’t attract aliens the way a mission to Mars did. We have become unimaginative. Zombies are just too easy. Rip a bit of flesh, walk stiffly and have blood dripping. Where’s the creativity in that?


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