Doctor on Duty: Urban legend or reality?
So Dad is in the hospital again. No matter how many times I go visit him, I never see a doctor. Mum, Ann and Jenge assure me that they have seen doctors. They have spoken to doctors. They have asked questions of doctors and gotten answers. But I’m beginning to think that the ‘Doctor on Duty’ is a myth, an urban legend and they have not really seen anyone, only convinced themselves that they have. In all my trips to Foothills hospital over the years, I have only seen a doctor one. He was very nice. Very tall. That’s about all I can remember.
In a country like Canada, I should not have to wonder if doctors are figments of my family’s imagination. I should be able to see them milling about, working. I see lots of nuses, nurses aides, orderlies. No doctors.
And don’t get me wrong. Everyone I have seen is bending over backward to be nice, and efficient. They are doing their jobs. It’s not them I have a problem with.
The health care in this country sucks. We have, like, 2.6 doctors per capita and are the only first world country without a plan to improve that. I think that as per capita stats go, we rank FOURTH LAST in the world.
Yet Stephen Harper lowers the GST from 7% (7 being a holy number) to 6% (6 being the number of you-know-who). And Ralph Klein buys us off like four year olds at Christmas handing out a $400.00 rebate cheque since our province is doing so well. How about keeping the GST at 7% and tossing that extra cash toward better health care? Stop placating me like a child with the promise of a pony and toss that $400 toward some medical equipment.
AND YOU!! STOP BEING PLACATED!! Instead of squealing with excitement over the possibility of another rebate cheque you should be OUTRAGED!! OUTRAGED that your allegiance has been bought and sold so easily. Sure, some people really needed that money, but most of us could have gotten by without it.
OUTRAGED, I say!
Sick as a Dog!
Oh! Mes enfants! I am sick! (insert violin music here) Yes, I have a cold or the flu. Does it matter which? The point is, I am sufferring! Like most of you when you are sick, I have no time to be so. I spend my days convincing myself that I am not sick enough to go home (LIE), that I will feel better after another glass of water (LIE), and that my sudden loss of appetite really isn’t that unusual in myself (THE BIGGEST LIE OF ALL – If I didn’t worry about my weight, I would eat like an NFL linebacker 24/7. Don’t believe me? Ask Donna, she lived with me for 8 months and reportedly had never seen anyone eat as much as me). My throat hurts, my head hurts, my body is all achy-shmachy. At night, I don’t so much dream as have paranoid delusions (you’ve had ’em when you’re sick. You sleep like the dead for 2 hours and then suddenly find yourself waking up every fifteen minutes CONVINCED the communists are about to bust down the door and steal your knitting yarn! BASTARDS! WHY would they do that to me? Unless it’s not the communists, it’s the fascists! Yeah, that’s right. The fascists! They want to take my yarn and sell it for double the price! Miserable hunchbacks. I oughta. . . wait, where was I? Is it time to take my Neo Citran again? Has it been four hours yet? It must have been (check clock) Wait a minute!! Those communists have screwed with my clock!! Setting it ahead four hours so I won’t get any rest and will work more! Damn Communism!! Dammit!!)
Then you wake up in the morning, drenched in feverish sweat and wonder why you don’t feel rested.
It sucks being sick!!
If I was a celebrity I could check myself into my nearest high class exclusive hospital and have cute doctors fretting over me, soap opera like, wondering if I’ll make it. (But doctor, will I live??? Will I ever be a world class cellist just like I’ve dreamed off since I was a poor vagrant on the streets before I became so fabulously wealthy for doing nothing except have my picture taken every time I leave the house? SOB! THE DRAMA!!) But being the real world, I can’t face the eight hours I would have to wait in line at the local clinic – nor can I afford to take that kind of time off work, so I schlepp to and fro, telling myself that tomorrow, I will feel better!! Neo citran, Ny-Quil, Advil, Cold FX, Vitamin C Halls – my high end drugs of choice!! My body and my brain are in a war!! Who will give out first?? The body? With its low-grade fever, foggy brain and achy muscles, it appears to be ahead of the game. But this is still early in the match. The brain has a memory! It remembers that you do get well eventually, you just have to keep going! The brain also has a calculator and is keeping a running tally of Mastercard and Visa. They won’t take “But I’m sick!” as an payment installment.
Damn this mortal body!!
You Can’t SING!!
Okay, kiddies. What’s with all the singer/songwriters these days? Time was, you were either a singer or a songwriter. It was a rare breed that was both. But nowadays, anyone who can pen a tune thinks that gives them the right to be a singer. The problem is alot of them can’t sing. Can’t carry a tune in a bucket. You may disagree with me (although you’d be WRONG!!) but here is my starting list of people who should go back to just being songwriters, if that.
1. Sheryl Crow – Is she popular? Sure. Good Looking? You bet. Can she sing? Nope. If you want to argue this one, listen to “Strong Enough” for thirty seconds. I win.
2. Cheyenne – This one is a new one. I heard something screeching at me from the radio the other day and, my God, it was awful. It was Cheyenne. She should be banned on account of the Geneva Conventions.
3. Ashlee Simpson – Gurl, you got moxy, I’ll give you that. And I admit, I like the song ‘Boyfriend.’ But just because your sister can sing doesn’t mean you can.
4. Paris Hilton – Can someone please assasinate her already?
5. The Tragically Hip – Yes, legions of Canadians are now going to be hunting for my hide, but the lead guy CAN’T CARRY A TUNE TO SAVE HIS LIFE!!
6. Raine formerly of OLP – Dude sounds like he could sing, if only he would stop trying to be so artsily anguished. Damn this pop-star life! It’s SO HARD!! Sniff.
I’m sure there’s more that annoy me, but it’s early and I’m doped up on cold medication. Feel free to add your own!!
PS – I’ve a new link on the side, Doctor Boogaloos Lunch Counter. So funny. Check it out.
Who wants to start a company with me??
Here’s the deal. I got my air con fixed last year (needed to be recharged) but then it crapped out about two weeks ago. So I called the place I had it done and they said to bring it in.
When I dropped the car off that morning, I told the punk I wanted the air con fixed. Said punk said it was no problemo. Then I said, since I’m here, can you change the oil? I’m overdue. And by the way, the ‘Check Engine’ light on my dash is on, but don’t worry about it. My dad had someone look at it and the technical explanation was ‘Something between here (the dash) and here (the engine) is no connect.” (My dad has a greek accent). I explained to the punk that my understanding was the light can’t be cleared out until my car talks to a computer and gets the ‘code’ cleared. He said, “Oh, we have a computer. We can do that for you.”
Things the punk left out #1 – Their establishment doesn’t do air con anymore. So when they called me at 10.30am I was quite surprised to find out that not only can they not fix it, they can’t even look for a leak to see if that’s why it failed. A further conversation ruled out them taking any blame for it failing. Another conversation about why I wasn’t informed of their no air con service ended with another young punk (a girl this time) telling me that not everyone who works there knows what services they offer.
You know, when I worked at Starbucks, everyone knew how to make coffee.
Things the punk left out #2 – Hooking the computer up to my car is an automatic 90.00 diagnostic fee. FASCISTS!!
So, at the end of the day, I’m left with only an oil change and a tire rotate and I’m out 200 bucks. BARK!!
But I consoled myself that at least the ‘Check Engine’ light was finally turned off and people would stop asking me about it.
Guess what turned on again this afternoon . . .
What say a bunch of us girls get together, take some automotives class and open up a mechanic shop? Think of how great it would be for women to talk to other women about their cars? No one makes fun of you when you imitate the sound your car is making. No one looks at you weird when you explain that you brought it in because it just ‘isn’t driving right.’ No one jeers at you when they open up your glove compartment and six candy bar wrappers and a tampon fall out. We could hold classes: How to change your break light. How to change your wiperblades. Why what your boyfriend is saying is BS because he doesn’t know jack about cars.
For those of you who don’t have enough minutia in your life, feel free to borrow some of mine. Case in point, Jenge and I are putting in lino on the main floor. Reason? Well, as you know, Portia is fond of peeing on the carpet. I once asked my vet why she pees on the carpet and not the hardwood and my vet said, ‘Well, that’s easy. She doesn’t want to get her feet wet.’
She doesn’t want to get her feet wet. How about she really needs to stop disappointing her mummy and making her cry when she’s sees the carpet??!!! How bout that??
Anyway, to see our top choices click the links:
Feel free to vote, but Jenge and I really don’t care what the general public thinks as long as we’re happy.
Okay, so I had to go downtown yesterday to go to the library. Being a suburbia girl , this is an unusual occurence for me. I could picture the library in my head, and knew it was on 7th ave, but I didn’t know the cross street (duh – Macleod Trail – seriously, how could I forget that!!).
Anyway, I parked at the Bow Parkade and figured I’d either take the C-Train (as I was in the free fare zone) or walk. And do you know what I discovered?
A) Calgary downtown is not nearly as picturesque as it should be – hello centre street C-train station, you cess-pool of activity. You squirrelled me out at 11am – I can only imagine what you are like after dark.
B) Calgary downtown is NOT made for women. My shoes got stuck FOUR TIMES. Twice in concrete sidewalk gaps and twice in some silicone putty gelly stuff that looked like concrete but was not! The last time, I had an armload full of thinky-thinky books (translation – gigantor sized library books) and was trying to figure out how I was going to extricate my shoe while holding 8 thinky thinky books, when some nice woman took pity on me, bent over and yanked my shoe free from the silicone putty squirrelly girly trap! (Said shoe is pictured above courtesy of Target.com). Whoever you are, you were my saviour. Muchos thanks!
It’s like when I go to the mall, and they’ve used that really slidy tile for the flooring. Women everywhere are doing the shuffle step walk because women’s shoes generally slide on that kind of tile. But women are the mall’s number one customer. If THE MAN is reading this, wake up and smell the lawsuit if someone falls on your slidy floor and breaks their back. DESIGN YOUR $#IT for WOMEN!! I’m sick of no one thinking of these things when it comes to construction and architecture. Ditto for stairs with out risers. You can see up our skirts. We don’t like it. Get that dirty smirk off your face, perv!
Save me from Idiots!
Okay, so on this exact date last year, I had the air conditioning in my car recharged. I didn’t even know that your air con could die and then need to be recharged, but after 2 years of having no air con, I did a little research et voila. So, my mum helped me out and I was able to get it done.
Flashforward to this week which has been a scorcher and I’ve got no air con again!
Now, I don’t know much about cars, but I consider myself resonably bright so I figure that I can’t be that wrong when I think that this does not make sense.
So I call the service station where I had it fixed last year (it is also a gas station). I get some young punk on the phone and I tell him (very politely – I am nothing if not excruciatingly polite) that my air con was charged at his establishment this time last year and it’s blowing hot air now. Does he know how long a charge is supposed to last?
And do you know what he said to me?? DO YOU??!! He said,
“How often do you use it?”
A sort of laugh-snort escaped me at this point and I said, “Well, whenever it’s hot.” and then do you know what he said, DO YOU!!??
“Oh, let it run for few minutes to see if it gets cold.”
Are you fraking kidding me? Like I just ran out to my car, turned it on and then immediately ran back in to call him. I politely add that this has been going on for a week, and I have an hour long commute. It’s run for a few minutes (like say SIXTY!! – that part was added in an internal monologue) and it’s still blowing hot air. And then do you know what he said:
‘Oh well, I can’t help you out because I only pump gas.’
And then there was a pause, a long pause while I waited for him to tell me to hang on, he would transfer me to the service department. But he didn’t. So I said kindly, “Alright then, can you transfer me to the service department, please.”
Pause from punk-head. ‘Um, I’m gonna have to put you on hold for that.” He said this as though it was some surprise to me and as though being put on hold was akin to having bamboo shoots put up my nails. I responded that it was fine, I was willing to wait for the next available service person to speak to me.
The service guy asked me to bring it in so they can check for a leak or something, which seemed reasonable to me. But what I couldn’t get over was this punk without common sense who was so unhelpful on the phone! If you don’t know $#it about something, pony up and say so and then just pass it off to someone who does. Don’t waste my time giving me jack$#it answers!
Back to Real Life!
Hello my lovelies, I am back from my trip to Nova Scotia. Here’s your update on Margaritaville…
Having not been there in over 15 years, it was great to be there again. Not much has changed and I was reminded of a quote I once read (although I cannot remember where from) but it went something along the lines of: the best thing about going to a place that does not change is finding the ways in which you yourself have been altered.
Cape Breton is very relaxing without being boring. From my uncle’s bungalow you can sit on the porch and stare out at the Bras D’Or Lakes all day and time just sort of passes. But you aren’t bored. Just rested. Sadly, mum and I went to Cape Breton for my uncle’s funeral after he passed away suddenly. No one knew he was sick, not even him until it was a done deal. But as we say, he went out with his boots on.
We had fairly good weather on most days. Some rain, but some sun too. Mum and I drove around the Cabot Trail, did some shopping at gift/souvenir shops and Mum pointed out some of her old stompin’ grounds. I got to meet some of my cousins kids. Then we spent two days in Halifax. We went to the Casino, pretty much broke even (whoo hoo!) and I walked along the boardwalk and shopped some more. Halifax was very easy to get around in and we had fabulous weather while we were there, sunny with a nice breeze off the habour. Can’t ask for much more than that.
So, here I am, back home again. I’m just finishing up my holiday laundry. I like to wash everything when I get home from vacation. It sort of like my own personal reset button for my life. I missed Portia and Rocky terribly and in a perfect world they would have missed me too, but I fear that as long as there is someone around to drop kibble in their bowls, it really doesn’t matter who it is!