Just back from this morning’s Doggy-Walk. HORRIBLE out there: it’s like a damn swamp.
Ohhh well…it cut down the number of merrie dawg-walkers, anyway. Nowhere near as many nitwits who think their dog (and your dog) are basically four-legged kids. Is there a reason people are so stump-dumb stupid?
Anyway,the dog is fed and watered and walked. I have to wait until M’hijito and I get back from the Mayo Clinic before having anything to eat. Which irks the hell out of me.
Not that I’m hungry. But that I regard today’s little diagnostic journey as a waste of time. And gasoline.
Been there. Done this. Over and over and over again. Why do we have to go through it again?
The Mayodocs have run blood test after blood test after blood test on me, and never have been able to figure out the cause of the crazy-making peripheral neuropathy.
Is there some part of “pre-diabetes” they can’t figure out? Maybe an aspect of “inherited proclivity for diabetic conditions” that’s really, REEEEELY hard to understand?
How can you go through all those years of medical school and come out so damn stupid?
Today we have to traipse out there for ANOTHER pointless goddamn blood test. My son will be here in half an hour to drag me across the Valley for that little adventure. Every time I go out there for yet another goddam blood test, they tell me “Ohhh eeek! you have pre-diabetes!” Ask them what “pre-diabetes” is, and they can’t come up with a satisfactory definition. About the best they can gag out is “well, it means maybe you might be about to develop diabetes. Someday. Maybe.”
No kidding. This is NOT the first time I’ve been through this infinitely annoying hoop-jump.
Last time they went “Ohhh eeek! you have pre-diabetes! — a year or so ago — I went over to Young Dr. Kildare, my “doctor in the wild” who used to practice right up the road from here.
He went jab jab test test, then called me back in to his office, and announced “No, you do NOT have pre-diabetes. You do not have diabetes. Nothing is wrong with your blood sugar levels.”
Got that? So…I expect this to be another annoying waste of time. And now that YDK has moved to effing Sun City, still more time will be wasted either traipsing halfway to Yuma to get to his office or finding another doctor, explaining all this bullshit, and talking him into re-testing me.
Spent half of yesterday out in Scottsdale, visiting a friend who lives in McCormick Ranch, an upper-middle-class suburban development nestled in expanse after expanse of grassy golf courses.
Nice little place my friend and his wife have out there. Unfortunately (IMHO), “little” is the operative word: it’s tiny.
Cute, charming, and tiny.
I suppose an aging couple could get used to it and come to like that aspect, though. Less space to have to keep clean. Less space to have to air-condition.
It’s a little small for my taste, though: I’m spoiled to living in a four-bedroom North Central Phoenix commuter palace. Though I’d love to live in that much tonier and safer Scottsdale district, I sure don’t want to have to downsize that much.
And really…is McCormick Ranch all that much tonier, just because it’s in Fancy-Dan Scottsdale? Really, North Central Phoenix is mighty Fancy-Dan, too. Even though our neighborhood is just a mile or so south of a dangerous slum (Sunnyslope leaves a lot to be desired in the Department of Safety), it still is a district of North Central, not Sunnyslop.
{sniff!) We’re soooo fancy, y’know!!! 😀