Body clinic

"Nice shoes." That's the first thing she said to me. And I'm all, score! I can finally wear normal shoes. Not one of two extra wide pair laced wide as possible like the Fantasia hippopotamus in ballerina shoes.

At the end of the rather long and involved appointment the aide stuck me.

I'm such a puss I can't even look.

She must think that's funny. It's telling.

She brought in three vials, and it's the stick and the vial-switching that freak me right out.

I think it's important to tell them when they do this stick well. "Hey, I didn't even feel that. Thank you for your gentle and considerate manner." I was worried about this. I don't know why the clinics are so much better at this than the hospitals and ambulance EMTs. One time I heard a clinician say the phrase "comfort needle," as if. By contrast the hospitals and EMT use veterinary needles intended for equines. It seems to me. They're brutal. And they just flat don't care about your discomfort.

"Does it go gush, gush, gush in pulses?"

     "Yes. Sometimes it does that."

"Is mine doing that?"

     "No. Yours is not pulsing."

"Oh man. What is mine doing, s-e-e-e-e-e-p?"

     "Yours is getting there. We're almost done."

"Oh! That's because the pressure is so low."

     "Yep."

I get it now. That answers everything. That explains the near-blackouts when standing up, the headaches, the leg cramps and hand cramps, the total lack of energy, the intense ankle and overall body pain from simple walking only three blocks, the neck pain from standing, the new medication brought down my blood pressure way too low. Seriously low.

I went from nearly exploding to barely pumping.

And that medication corrected the first medication that caused my lower legs and feet to swell to elephant proportions.

So this third medication, half the dosage of the second, and only one active ingredient, not two, should be the mama bear medication that gets it just right. I hope.

Uckfay my regular pharmacy that charges $100.00 co-pay for 90 days prescription, this time we'll go local pharmacy right now. King Soopers. Every time I walked by that section there were a million people waiting in a line a mile long. (Possibly five people waiting in chairs, hard to tell the difference when it's crowded like that and I didn't actually count them.) But this time there was nobody. Just me and the two ladies who work there. And this time it cost only $4.35.

And after that, sleep.

I'm still barely pumping.

Anything else that takes any effort will just have to wait.

The dishes don't get done, the floor doesn't get vacuumed, the bathroom turns into a bog, the plants don't get transplanted, forms don't get filled, dinner doesn't get made, la la la, I just cannot be arsed on anything.

And I'm so stew-pud I forgot to have the guy sign the vee-hickle registration form.

Damnit, Janet. Now I have to go back again and do that tomorrow.

Maybe I'll have more energy by then.

I can't tell you what a relief it is knowing this latest round of pain and suffering was all induced by medicine and not the new me. Those tiny pills must be what dropping acid is like. Almost. The effect is profound from something so small.

I pity the people who have to take these things forever. No wonder there are so many zombies walking around.

Outside the store I saw an old man walking slowly as I do except maybe even worse. He was crumpled into himself, curved as a question mark and making incredibly slow progress. He was a shadow against the brick wall. He was a two-dimensional representation of a living suffering person, and I thought, "Oh man, I bet that guy has extremely low blood pressure. I sure hope he can find help."