Yesterday i got a letter from the specialist. At the bottom she'd scrawled please contact me. we'll discuss.
At 11 this morning I attempted to do that. Knowing, of course, that there was no chance of getting through on the first try. The inner circle acolyte assured me that she was with a patient, and would call me back as soon as she had a chance.
Five hours ago, now.
In some ways, I'm glad people who depend on what I do don't wait with baited breath for me to finish. Especially since it seems to take a year to generate and verify a product.
I guess it's not that urgent; the tests seem to be normal, at least for now. So, *shrug*.
One reason this cuts such a hole in my day is that I have some trouble focusing on what I want to ask a doctor. So I wrote myself some notes, and from time to time I review them, so they'll be fresh in my mind when the moment of professional attention arrives.
I think this kind of thing is my own personal version of hell. I once spent a very long 20 hours in the Cincinnati airport, where one of the most precious commodities was the carefully rationed time of airline agents. So I wandered from gate to gate, signing up on standby for flights out, asking for status reports. Finally got out the afternoon after I'd arrived. Put in a doctor's office that's never actually staffed, and it's perfect. "You need this? You can't have any."
All that, and I had a pretty poor excuse for a roast beef sandwich, just because I could get it quickly and get back to waiting. So my tummy is earpy. And I'm sleepy.
Enough whining. The weekend was really excellent, in so many ways. And toxicfur whipped us up a batch of garlic's chicken recipe last night, which is seriously yummy.
Whatever. Post this sucker.
|< Dear Diary | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >|