WEDNESDAY, WEEK 14: THE PHYSICIAN FIASCO.

I've been growing more accustomed to using my left arm for things my right arm normally does. Yesterday I worked a newspaper word puzzle using my left hand to circle the letters. I also used my left hand to write my initials on work documents. The most interesting experience of all was brushing my teeth with the left hand. I am surprised at how quickly one can adapt to such physical impairments--the few things I could do at work were done with my left hand only, and with increasing deftness. Now my goal is to become ambidextrous. I've always thought that would be hot stuff.

Try this on for size: Last week I was talking to various people (who have had similar disabilities) about doctors they recommend, primarily orthopedic surgeons or neurologists. Pat got out a gigantic planner and flipped through it (the pages were covered in names and numbers, all in different colors) and then scribbled down something on a piece of register receipt paper. I remember standing there watching her write it down, watching the "M" and not really knowing what letter it was (not the best handwriting, mind you) followed by the name "Taba" and a phone number. The ink was red. I stuffed the paper into my left pocket and took it out later when I got home, mixing it with some other papers that were in my bag. So yesterday when I desperately needed to reach a doctor, I got that piece of paper out, made an appointment with this M. Taba (apparently M for Michael) next Wednesday at 1:45. Then I called my stupid normal doctor and got them to fax their referral over to Taba's office so my insurance wouldn't have a fit. I felt a lot better knowing all that was taken care of and I'd be in the safe hands of a professional by next week.

FAST FORWARD A COUPLE OF HOURS.

I went up to work with the sibbies to meet Ryan and his friend. Pat was working and I casually mentioned to her that I had made an appointment with her doctor.

"Oh, Dr. Hoskins?" "What?" "Dr. Hoskins." "Nooo...Michael Taba." "I don't know any doctor named Taba." "Pat, I was standing right here when you wrote his name and number on a piece of paper." "I wrote down Dr. Hoskins." I grabbed yet another piece of register receipt paper and a pen. "Pat, this is what you wrote down." I scrawled "M. Taba" and a scribbly line to indicate the phone number that had been below his name. "I never wrote that." "Yes you did! You wrote it in red ink..." "I would never use red ink. I used the pen from my planner." "THEN WHO IS THE GUY I MADE THE APPOINTMENT WITH?" "I don't know!" Now, I can't recall anyone else actually giving me a written referral to a doctor and I know the handwriting on the piece of paper matches what I've seen of Pat's handwriting in the past. A quick search on Google reveals that Dr. Taba is an orthopedic surgeon and I could just take my chances going to see him anyway. What's he going to do, suggest I cut my arm off? Doubtful. I'm sure he'd be able to provide some means of help so I think I'll just keep the appointment. Still the mystery of the situation and the frustration of Pat's delusional self, coupled with my recent insurance problems, has almost sent me over the edge. I think not being able to do anything with my hands has been the ultimate blow. Somehow, though, typing doesn't really hurt it as badly as most other things do. Driving is a nightmare. I bet part of the problem with yesterday was driving so much before I went in for work. I've learned my lesson! You are now my chauffer, Lindsey.

Last night after dinner I took one of those prescription Tylenol that the stupid doctor had called in for me (per my request). I felt fine for about 45 minutes or so but by the time Beth came over I was feeling really out of it. They dragged me up to Starbucks with them and I found myself just wandering around the parking lot or cackling inanely. A lot of prescription medications have that sort of effect on me. I explained to Beth later on that people like me don't need drugs or alcohol to be weird or creative or inspired--we're weird enough already. I'm known for wandering around parking lots to begin with but this was different, like being outside of my body and completely senile about it.

I really hate that word. Senile. Yeah, totally hate it.

I would write more but that would be out of the norm for me. Maybe I'll update this later when I have more uninteresting things to say or muse about.