Coffee heat rising

Health care

Muse Me No Muzak!

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Daaayum, but I hate Muzak. Do you know anyone who actually likes to sit on the phone interminably listening to bing-bing-BONG-bing/bong bong BING bing pumped into their ear?

Tried to call Young Dr. Kildare’s new office, way to hell and gone out in Sun City, by way of canceling today’s appointment. Ring ’em up and get bing-bing-BONG-bing/bong bong BING bing blasting into the phone. Finally, after about five minutes of this annoyance, some poor office worker came on the line, just as I was about to slam down the phone.

Y’know, one of the problems with this endlessly annoying “system” is that by the time an employee answers the phone, your customer is in SUCH A RAGE that it’s almost impossible to muster a shard of politeness.

Another problem: since Dr. Kildare makes his (dis)respect for his patients/customers so obvious, you can be SURE this one will never show up in his environs again.

Y’know, I think the Mayo is just great. Love my doc out there, though sometimes question her opinions. But the problem is…their offices are WAAAAYYYYY over on the far side of north Scottsdale, halfway to freakin’ Payson. A drive over there takes upwards of 40 minutes — one way. So you’re on the road for 80 minutes to spend maybe 10 minutes with MayoDoc.

Annoying.

At the time I knew him here, YDK’s office was right up the street from my house. Literally: I could walk there, if I felt so ambitious. That and the fact that he’s reasonably smart and competent led me to schedule visits with him for any medical issue that looked fairly tame. Saved the Mayo safari for ailments that looked downright terrifying.

And when you get old, you DO get enough of those to help pay a doctor’s overhead…

At any rate…probably in search of an older, more ailing clientele, YDK closed his office in Moon Valley, a suburb just up the road from the Funny Farm, and decamped to Sun City.

A long drive from here. A long, crowded, unpleasant drive.

But…I like him so much that I decided I would follow him…westward, ever westward.

***
Uh huh. Tried that. Ain’t tryin’ it again. 
***

My parents lived in Sun City. My mother died there, under the care of the most UNcaring doctors I ever met. So, I determined that I would never, ever let a Sun City doctor have at me.

Needless to say, YDK’s move out there led to some agonizing second thoughts. 

A huge, brand-new, fancy hospital has sprung up in Sun City. One guesses that YDK and his partners decided to go out there so they could get in on the ground floor of that thing…and have access to some swell new office digs. All very nice.

But if I’m going to drive half my lifetime to see a doctor, I guess — oh, make that I know I’d rather go east than west. ANY day I’d rather go to a Mayo Clinic doctor than to Albert Schweitzer in Sun City! Hafta say: the experiences we had out there — in Sun City — while my mother was dying were just horrific. I swore I’d never go near another Sun City doctor or hospital…and…well… I reckon now is the time to honor that oath.

‘Bye, YDK…you will be missed!

<3

And now…DIS-dislocated?????

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So yesterday I was whining about the excruciatingly sore hip and speculating that it must be dislocating and figuring that dammit I was gonna have to go to ANOTHER doctor and gaaaaaaaahhhh!

…and…uhm…

now??? 

Now, as we scribble, I sit on the sofa without one twinge of pain.

Naaaaahhhh…must be a hallucination.

Get off the (formerly pained) duff. Follow the dog around the house.

Nary a stab of pain.

WTF?  Visit Wonder Cleaning Lady, who’s mopping the floors preparatory to making her escape. Pick up a tiny scrap off the tiles that got missed as she vacuumed.

Nary a stab of pain.

WTF, indeed???

Seriously: All that ouch that hurt so much every time I took a deep breath…the wondrous pain that made me feel I need to drive across the city to visit yet another doctor: IT’S GONE!

As in completely gone.

Getting up off the sofa and walking around the house does NOT make it come back.

Picking up a tiny piece of litter off the soon-to-be incredibly clean floor does NOT make it come back.

Following the dawg around does NOT make it come back.

This is weird.

It hurt royally when I got out of the sack this morning: every bit as much as it was hurting yesterday. Enough that yes, I did figure to call the doc’ and arrange an appointment and probably have to put my son up to driving the car out to his place. Or hire someone to schlep me out there.

Wow.

If it stays gone…well…what kinda miracle will THAT be?

I figure it wouldn’t go away and stay quiescent for several hours if there weren’t at least a good chance that it’s gonna heal up.

Sure do hope so!!!

Augh! SPARE Me, Lord!

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Well, we’ve got about 2.5 hours before my son shows up to drag me back out to the Mayo Clinic — on the far side of Scottsdale, halfway to freakin’ Payson — for another time-wasting yack-fest.

These supposedly therapeutic sessions consist of gathering about two dozen old farts around a large conference table, where we spend three hours nattering on about how we can’t remember where we put our shoes.

No kidding! That WAS the subject of one chatterfest.

UNbelievable waste of time!

Did one person — either one of the freshly air-headed or one of the staff members — ever suggest that the way to not have to worry about forgetting where you put your shoes is simply to ALWAYS PUT THEM IN THE SAME PLACE every time you take them off?

Nope. Not one person came anywhere near suggesting that. It was all whine! whine! whine! I can’t remember my name! 

Seriously: Wouldn’t it be better simply to recognize that as you age, your memory will weaken (that’s normal…) and take steps to address that problem? How hard IS it to…

…have a to-do list. Tape it to the back door or the bathroom mirror if you can’t remember where you put it.
…set alarm clocks or timers to ring when you have an appointment or something that needs to be done at a certain time.
…put your relatives or hired help up to reminding you that you need to do X, Y, or Z.

You see the problem…  

Anyway, the last time we trudged out there for one of these get-togethers, it was two and a half or three hours of utter, COMPLETE wasted time. 

And since I personally feel my time should be mine to waste, not someone else’s, I highly resented that event. And even more highly resent having to traipse out to the east side to waste another whole goddamn afternoon.

Understand: it’s almost an hour’s drive out there from here. That doesn’t count getting parked and navigating your way, on foot, through the clinic’s maze to get to the day’s conference room.

Which is to say that by the time you’ve traipsed out to the far side of Scottsdale and come back home, you’ve blown away two hours…and that doesn’t count the three hours blown away listening to old buzzards whine about losing their shoes. So in fact, you’re going to waste a good half-day.

Thought you had something better to do with your time? Hey…don’t be silly! You’re OLD…you don’t have anything to do with your time.

Right?

Still More Existential Agonizing

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My poor son is freaking out because — with some reason — he thinks I drink wayyy too much booze.

And y’know…the truth is, even a glass or so a day is prob’ly too much.

My parents always had a cocktail or two before dinner. And as I reached the Drinking Age, I came to join them. Actually, my college boyfriend at the time got me started on swilling a cocktail or two a day. So it was pretty easy to just blend right in with the family custom. 😀

Has that custom grown into an exceptionally bad habit?

Hmmmm…..  One could argue so. 

Yeah, I do have a whiskey & water or a glass of wine every afternoon, before dinner. Then a glass of wine with dinner. And yeah: it makes sense to say that’s too damn much. Especially for the girlie scion of a good Christian Scientist family. 😀

So now, dammit….I’ve decided to climb on the wagon. 

Ugh, what a way spend the late afternoon, right?

😀

But truth to tell, I think we’ll all be better off if the old lady quits lapping her li’l cocktail every afternoon. How booooring!

My parents always had cocktails before (and sometimes with) dinner. The difference was that they didn’t drink wine. So they didn’t have that nightly swill of cabernet or Sauvignon blanc with dinner. Instead, they generally lapped up a whiskey and water or two beforehand. And that was it.

My son, having noticed how much wine I’ve taken to slurping down (doubt if he’s noticed the disappearing whiskey…), has asked me to knock it off. And truth to tell…I think he’s right.

So here we are, riding the wagon again. 

Matter of fact, I hadn’t noticed until recently how much booze I’ve been lapping…and y’know, I do believe he’s right. I need to quit that! 

One of the li’l problems that arise when you get in the habit of regular boozing is that you don’t realize how much you’re spending on your swilling. If you buy a bottle of wine or whiskey only when you go into the store to buy food, that cost gets blended in with the grocery bill, and unless you’re paying close attention, you simply don’t notice that the grocery bill is hovering near the stratosphere.

And in fact, that is pretty much what’s happened here. Recently I realized that holee maquerel! I’m spending an obscene amount on food. 

Well.

No.

Sorry. Cabernet is not food. Neither is Sauvignon blanc. Nope. Not food. But it sure as hell is jacking up the grocery bill.

So. No. Quit it!

As of this evening, we’re guzzling iced tea or water with dinner. Ugh.

Oh well: we’ll survive. And probably be the better for it. 

 

And…you thought “hotter than the hubs” was hot?

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Hah! we say to that…

{chortle!}  7:19 a.m.: Just back from the morning Dawg Walk.

It seems hotter than the Hubs of Hades. But in fact…it’s not. In fact, it’s only 90 degrees out on the patio.

That seeming, I expect, is occasioned by the fact that it’s a bit damp out there. The air is hazy: not overcast, but…kinda fuzzy-looking.

Ruby and I circumnavigated the neighborhood, from the upper reaches of Richistan to the humbler, Sun City-style bungalows that characterize our parts. Indeed, my house was built by the same developer who brought us that sylvan ghetto for old folks. And once you know that, you can see the resemblance. Kinda.

WhatEVER. Even though it’s not hot outside by Arizona standards, it’s mighty cozy by ordinary human standards. Yes: Hubs of Hades.

And what have we here? A wind seems to be coming up. Rain in the offing maybe, later today?  Innaresting.

Thinking, whilst hiking, about how I”m going to contrive to stay in my house until the last cat is hanged. My son wants to consign me to the Beatitudes, a prison for olde folkes.

I just HATE institutional living — hated living in the dorms, and know very well that being locked up in an old-folkerie will quickly drive me to suicide.

Which ain’t the way I wanna go out…

Recently I learned that Wonder Cleaning Lady used to take care of old bats in their homes. Whether she stayed with them overnight, I do not know…but with all the gadgets we have these days, it wouldn’t be hard to equip oneself with a call button to summon your caretaker or the EMTs. If said caretaker surfaced around 7 or 8 a.m. and stayed until after dinner, you’d be OK.

By and large.

And given what it costs to stay in one of those horrible places, you’d probably come out ahead financially.

A-a-n-n-d interestingly, I seem to be getting by just fine without a car! Dear son, who kiped mine and locked it in his garage, has driven me to a few places that I need to go, and has made it clear he has no intention of returning the chariot. But….

But…I don’t need it! 

The guy across the street is an Uber driver! He can schlep me just about anyplace I need to go. And if I can’t snab him, I can…hold onto your hat! This is radical stuff!…just call a taxi.

Yes. Phoenix still has taxi cabs. If you can imagine.

It’s interesting to think….  That you could get by without a car in a major city, I mean. Back when my mother and I lived in San Francisco, we mostly did without the car. My father’s car, that is: most of the time it was locked up in an underground garage, while he went to sea. She and I took the bus, the streetcar, or a cab. And we got around just fine.

The presence of Uber’s amateur cab drivers would hugely enhance that. With those guys on stand-by all the time…really…you wouldn’t need to own a car.

Truth to tell, though…once the weather cools a bit, I probably won’t have much use for the Uber dudes, anyway.

The Funny Farm is within walking distance of three fine shopping centers. Taken together, they house…

> an Albertson’s (giant supermarket)
> a Walgreen’s
> a computer store (new gear and repairs!)
> a Fry’s (supermarket!)
> a Sprouts (hippy-dippy supermarket!)
> an El Rancho (another supermarket!)
> a music store
> a beauty parlor
> a liquor store
> a doctor’s office
> a couple of clothing stores
…and several others that offhand I don’t recall.

Soooo…I lucked out when I bought this house here at the top end of North Central.

What it means is that I can reach any of those stores in a ten-minute walk. And with the roller-cart that I tricked out, I can carry a freaking ton of goods from place to place to home.

And what THAT means is: no need for a car!

Seriously: if I need a car, all I have to do is go rent one.

And…if Luz is representative, I can rent a caretaker, too! 😀

ohhhh well….

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11:20 Friday night:  And dayum! 

Here I thought this vicious ailment was getting a little better…but ohhhhh no! It’s back with a burning, tingling, hurting vengeance.

LOL! Do not annoy the Gods of Pain, whatever ya do!

Seriously, by evening I (stupidly) did think it was slacking off. Getting a little better. Becoming tolerable. Har har har! 

Not. So. Much.

Sure am tired of hurting. Wish this thing would go away…or I would go away. Whichever is necessary to make it stop.

The little dawg turned out of the sack a little early for her wee-hours perambulation of the backyard. It’s only about 11:30. She usually lasts till 4:00 a.m., give or take.

Because the ‘Hood is infested with coyotes — any one of whom would enjoy a delicious 20-pound dog as a midnight snack — I have to go outside with her and stand around until she does her Thing. Then lure her back into the house. That’s not a terrible thing to have to do, really. One could do without the background music of constant ear-whistling. But ten minutes or so in the backyard of a pleasant night….that’s OK enough. I guess.

Ugh! Still wonder what those two officious social workers — ostensibly from the State of Arizona — wanted when they descended on me. And still marvel at the incredible luck that Luz the Wonder-Cleaning-Lady happened to have visited early enough to have shoveled out the pig-pen before the nuisance women showed up. That was a bizarre visitation — from the two officials, that is. What the Hell were those to up to?

Whatever it was…wasn’t good, of that you can be pretty sure.

***

That dose of ibuprofen I dropped seems to have helped a little. Let us try to get back to sleep!

😀