Friday, August 24, 2007
This week several fellow baby boomers have been packing up, gassing up (their cars, not their bodies, maybe)and leaving their homes to have surgery, take important tests and visit various doctors and/or specialists. What fun!
Lately, as I get closer to the half century mark (I can't believe I just wrote that)I find myself trying to fit the day job in around my various appointments.
True, I swear: I wrote the rough draft for this story while waiting to be called in for the latest of who knows how many physical therapy sessions.
Now I certainly cannot speak for anyone else but me, but I am sick of all the moments I endure waiting to see and be seen by someone working in any kind of medical building!
Take this past month:
8 physical therapy sessions
3 trips to the pharmacy
2 visits to the rheumatologist
And a partridge in a pear tree. Everyone-please sing a long!
If I didn't know better-I'd swear I was past sick and moving on to dying.
At least I'm seeing pleasant people, who seem to have my well-being at heart. I hope. Especially my rheumatologist, after 10 years, I've begun greeting him with "Hi Randy, how's the wife and family?"
He calls me Carine. Always has.
I'm going off on a slight tangent here, but why do we call our doctors by their title and they always use our first names and see us half-dressed? Okay, back to the subject I started with now.
My parents said they retired just in the nick of time-with all their "visits" they wouldn't have had any time to earn a living anyway.
Now, I really happen to enjoy my day job-BUT if some nice publisher/editor who hopefully is enjoying reading this and would like to help out a talented middle-aged free-lancer-PLEASE, give me a call with just enough writing assignments to keep me solvent while shuttling between offices.
Oh, please contact me by e-mail or better yet, cell phone-just in case whatever office I'm waiting at is running a bit late. I wouldn't want you to think I didn't have the time to write a really good article for you.