LOL! Twenty after 9:oo in the morning — Sunday — and the Human & the Hound are back from our daily perambulation of the neighborhood park.
It’s a nice, grassy spread, surrounded by rows of upper-middle-class homes. Very pretty, nice and quiet: Dawg Hevvin!
Today, though, is hot, stuffy, and overcast.
To perfect that scenario, somehow my son arranged a flickin’appointment with the flickin’ Mayo Clinic…for TODAY. Yeah. Sunday.
Why escapes me. Just now, nothing is ailing me (except a sore hip, no doubt acquired by sleeping cattywampus).
Whatever the reason for this scheduled visit, I sure as hell could do without it. I’ve come to truly hate traipsing to the Mayo, clear across the north Valley, halfway to freakin’ Payson. It’s almost an hour’s drive out there, through homicidal traffic (you ain’t seen a homicidal driver till you’ve seen a Phoenix driver!). So…half the day is gonna be blown away for…what?
Far as I can tell: for nothing.
Besides the drive, of late another thing that has concerned me has been apparent misdiagnoses. The last few oh gawd! oh dear! diagnoses that have emanated from there turned out to have altogether different causes than the Mayodocs claimed. Given some tests, the Mayodocs’ frantic claims turned out to be…wrong…wrong…and dead wrong.
So…I get less and less comfortable with these journeys to the East Side of Eden. And increasingly wary about diagnoses that may or may not be right.