Arghhhhh! What a FUBAR. Since 9 January 2009 (review for those who have not tuned in…) I have been attempting to get a mammogram film (mine) from MA to Texas – it’s a bloody breasts film people not classified data! It is now 6 February (same year amazingly) and “no one” knows where it is – oh the ladies in MA have “sent it right along”, and the women in Texas “can’t find it, haven’t seen it, don’t have it logged in”. I’ve already cancelled surgery once over this not to mention the angst – which is being nicely covered up by the frustration.
Last night, I said (on the advice of smart J.) to say buggger finding the film, and just go in for the MRI now that the respiratory infection is (mostly) gone. On my desk, which granted usually is a mystical experience to anyone but me, I could not find the bloody form! I can tell you exactly what it looked like right down to the post-it taped to the front with the number for scheduling. Nowhere. I’m seriously considering running away back to Africa or Northern India or even Kashmir at this point – somehow that chaos is easier because it’s expected.
Oh poor me! What crap. I watch and read the news and cringe at the hubris I have to complain. The world economic situation is indeed dire and apparently not getting better any time soon or quickly. Thousands of people every day losing their jobs – it is truly frightening.
The politics in Washington D.C. appear to be more important than a solution, and meanwhile Russia is engaging with its neighbours and the world in a smile and knife mode – as in “Oh my yes we are with the U.S. and Europe on any means to improve world economy and ensure peace; But no, you can no longer use the base in Kyrgyzstan to launch offensives in Afghanistan and we’ll just keep Chechnya.”
And how comforting is it that Pakistan has let Abdul Qadeer Khan out of house arrest to wander about and see what other fanatics he can help along with nuclear weapons technology and supplies – well done there.
All in all it makes me put my little irritants and fears into perspective. I will wait to find out if I have anything to actually fear and in the meantime, I will find the bloody form, get the MRI, get the thyroid biopsy (almost as much fun as engaging Putin) and see what is what in my little part of the Universe.
I hope you lovely readers are well and hearty.
Um... do you think it is significant that I found it relaxing to read Vince Flynn last night when I couldn't get my mind to stop long enough to fall asleep?
Wake Up and Smell the Coffee sent me here to a blog, Alright Tit, you MUST visit - go. now.
Later that day, 6 February 2009
Oy vey what a day..
Crimey, I hate crying. Crying is bad for my face, it makes my nose red and it makes me feel helpless. I hate crying. I don’t cry often but I’ve just finished a good fifteen minutes of solid-hand-me-the tissues that followed thirty minutes of hiccupping sobs-trying-to-hold-off-the-flood.
As I told you earlier, following aborted efforts to have my mammogram film from 2005 sent to Texas from Lowell Hospital (yes, you – you bad, bad people) in MA I decided to go ahead with the MRI as the surgery date is looming and I have the thyroid biopsy to look forward to (SO NOT) on 12 February.
It took me from 1100hrs this morning (and this is using their Platinum Service la de da) until bloody 1500hrs this afternoon to get the MRI appointment set at Shylock Tower on Monday at 0900hrs.
THEN they tell me I have to be in the coffin (been there before, don’t, so don’t, like it but I can do it) for an hour – all right I’m not liking that but I’m thinking I can take my prayer beads with me (no metal) and then she tells me I will be face down – oh gods no, can’t do that, not going to happen, oh shit. “Would you like sedation?”
“Oh dear gods yes!”
“Then you have to have someone with you to take you home.”
“Can’t I just go home in a taxi?”
Well people, I don’t have anyone to take me home, as J. will be busy doing that earning the money thing. So now the lower lip is quivering, but I’m still thinking, always thinking and you can come up with a plan A, then plan B, then the FUBAR plan. I may already be in FUBAR people.
So I start thinking – all this can be avoided if only that (*(*&^%$ film from MA was here for the radiologist to compare to the new films. AGAIN I call Lowell Hospital file room to check on the film – the one that “sent it out yesterday FedEx”, “no we haven’t sent it yet, I’ll get it right out today”, and today? “Oh we sent that out a couple of days ago by regular mail.”
Yes, that would be when the full out crying began. I didn’t want to call J and make him listen to this, or make Cath’ (best buddy) listen ONE more time, so I decided to at least make someone responsible and try to prevent it from happening to someone else.
After everyone at the file library (that would be Christine, Laurel, and anyone else who answered the telephone and lied) denied any responsibility, I obtained the name of a supervisor – Ms. Rebecca Uphold, of whom I am not even sure it IS her job, but who has been very reassuring (even if she’s lying). I stopped crying and made a cup of café au lait and decided to write you instead. Ms. Uphold is ‘supposed’ to call me back after she has checked on the status of my film.
So I don’t know what will happen, but I’m done being the effect of this little drama. I’m going to get the bloody film if I have to fly up there, because I am NOT having that MRI unless there is no other choice, and we are not yet there Pilgrim.
And Ms. Oh so nice I hope she gets lucky later Uphold called, she checked by actually going to the file room, and yes Becky the little shits did indeed not FedEx but regular mailed the film, and not until 3 February 2009.
Plan C – start calling the mailroom at Methodist and do an extra round with my prayer beads, reschedule that MRI for Wednesday on the bet that I can beat it with the finding of the film. Aces and eights anyone?
I’m going now to watch a movie where lots of shit blows up – it calms me.