What an insane week it’s been.
Monday we had a paid day off for President’s Day and, as I have mentioned, my primary care physician called and scheduled an appointment for me with a physiatrist they recommended.
You may recall this made me very happy.
Nan and I even went out for coffee to celebrate.
But yesterday, as I did what I do folding clothes at the Bizzy Hizzy, I got a call from the physiatrist that they didn’t think they could help me as they specialized in orthopedic care and I probably needed neuromuscular care.
The very kind staff person asked me questions and said she would talk to the doctor on my behalf but that they might cancel my appointment.
I literally started to cry.
And I emailed my psychologist.
Because the difficulty I am having finding medical care seems a tad ridiculous— and every hurdle I cross makes me feel like less of a person.
Or perhaps just less valuable.
When I returned from my first break, the powers-that-be at our Hizzy transferred me to the returns department. Now I love women’s returns processing, but it hurts my body. It must be unloading and swinging the packages around. But I can’t figure it out.
By the end of the day, I wasn’t too horribly in pain, but I definitely felt out-of-whack. I had “vague-booked” on Facebook that seeking medical care should not make one cry.
One of my friends, whom I have known for probably five years now, replied that he might be able to help research doctors. We’ll call him the punk Viking.
Meanwhile my neurologist finally returned my email from several weeks ago recommending another physiatrist.
I called the Punk Viking on the way home from work. He has social work experience and is recuperating from a significant medical intervention. He and I have made a pact of sorts to support each other through our health journeys and try to bring a little more levity to each other’s lives.
And then I woke up at 3 a.m. keenly aware of the fact that my hip had shifted. And I was uncomfortable.
And I went to work uncomfortable.
A bunch of us were scheduled to work women’s inbound processing— which is about 700 steps from the main breakroom for my short legs, the far end of the warehouse.
At 8:50 a.m., we trekked to the breakroom for first break. On the way, my chiropractor’s office called and asked to move my Friday appointment because of the anticipated winter weather. They are calling for snow. I fought tears. They wanted to move my appointment to Monday— but I’m already uncomfortable.
(According to the iPhone my walking was asymmetrical today. It looks like once a week my walk is getting measurably off.)
So, I take an appointment for 5 p.m. Monday. And put in a last minute request to leave early Monday.
We returned to our stations at 9:05 and at 9:15 we had a team meeting back in the breakroom.
During that meeting, the physiatrist’s office called. I can’t answer. So I can only assume they are canceling.
But instead I discovered they have agreed to do an assessment.
I get back to my station at 9:38, and I have a second interview for my application to the safety team at 10. It’s on the complete opposite side of the building— about 1300 steps. When I arrive, I find out the location has been moved to a different room. One, get this, just beyond the breakroom in women’s inbound.
You know, where I started.
The interview went great.
And I had more than 8,000 steps today.
I came home, talked to the Viking, and did some cleaning with the teenager. I’m exhausted. Achy. Stiff.
But if all goes as I hope it will— I should be able to get my business bank account for Parisian Phoenix tomorrow. My LLC came in today!!!!!