| Shin splintsTell me what you know, tell me what you do.
Happy Mother's Day. The boys each made me at least one card. Sean made me three. Steve wrote me a cute poem.
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| I've watched it five times this weekendReally!
I don't know why!
But I like it.
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| I made an app on facebookYou know how I am.
Anyway.
Now you can send one another random shit off my desk. I drew the line at 15 items, but when this app has gained immeasurable popularity on facebook and I begin to get sued a la Scrabbulous, naturally I will add more. (Whatevs.)
Go. Click. Be retarded with me. |
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| Told myself not to cryOkay, the movie's cheesy. The music's bad. The actors--don't even go there. (The lady at the beginning looks like LizBot2.0, btw, "ED.")
But it's a great idea. I know how much it means to me when someone thanks me for being a good mom. I'm not even being shot at.
Gratitude sign
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| Would you trust these people to treat your cancer?Only growing my disgust with all things traditionally medical, this morning I got out of bed, woke Steve, and woke up the boys so Steve could get them all ready and drop Sam off at school. Note: Steve HAD to take the other two boys with him to drop off Sam, because I had a 7:30 AM Dr's appt. Yep, 7:30 AM.
And my boys normally sleep in, except for Sam. So does Stephen. He is a bear in the morning when he's forced to do stuff like this. This was a major ordeal. Sam Sean was screaming "I want a bath! I want a bath!", just adding to the frustration.
I burned my leg last night on my own tights (don't ask), so this morning I hobbled around, got my hair washed so I wouldn't smell like old sweat, all that good stuff. I got out the door barely on time, but the Dr's office was just about a mile away, so I wasn't too worried about it.
The door was locked when I got there. Checked my phone. Ontime. Tried again. Called Steve. He looked the # up for me. Called. Answering service.
I was just about to give up and leave when they opened the door to let me in.
After going through all the stupid paperwork and all that crap (it's always four pages, isn't it?), they took my co-pay and took me back to a room. The nurse started to ask me questions for Dr. Male to look over before he came in.
"Dr. Male?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"My appt. is with Dr. Female," I said.
She made a face. Her eyebrows did that thing you see people do when they're trying to figure out a poorly-worded sign or something. "Dr. Female isn't here today. Do you want to reschedule?"
"Dr. Male is a man, right?" I asked.
"Yes," she said.
"I'll reschedule."
We went out to reception, where the receptionist made excuses for the other receptionist who set the appt. I assured her that the other receptionist DID know I had asked for Dr. Female, and that I'd originally set the appt at the East End office ("Dr. Female only sees patients at the East End office!" this receptionist explained. In other words, "Not in your ghetto neighborhood, lady!") and that the receptionist there suggested I move the appt. to New Albany. She also said Dr. Female would be there on this particular day. I guess the words "never sees patients there" are not written on whatever schedule she was looking at.
I was so disgusted by the whole waste of time (and parking costs--yes, you have to pay to park there), one irritation after another, that I no longer CARED that this woman was supposed to be one of the best dermatologists in Louisville.
Her shitty staff is a liability.
And I'm SICK of people with shitty staffs, shitty teams, shitty standards being in charge of our HEALTHCARE. Sick of it.
I called a different practice and made an appt. there. I'd go back to my old (hott) dermatologist, but I'd feel weird having him look over my whole bod for moles and stuff. I really would rather have a woman do that, even if she's a diesel dyke. Whatever. Women are more DETAIL-ORIENTED. Supposedly. As long as they're not setting appts, I guess.
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