Blowing my cork

“Yoiks“, as someone I once knew used to say.

It’s a term used to describe a somewhat amazing or alarming situation.

That covers what’s going on out there lately in these United States.

How is one supposed to concentrate on anything? None of what is happening has actually affected me at all, in fact, except in my head. I’ve always been much better when I could physically do something. Take action of some kind.

It makes me feel guilty that I just sit here and gawp at different video clips that I can choose to believe or not, according to who is providing them.

All I know for sure is that things are fucked up. There. I’ve said the word again. Twice in two days. How many karma deficits for that?

This is how it went:

So I was in no mood for some condescending little upstart who was all prepared to tell me what I had done things wrong. Again.

Gritting my teeth, I informed her that the script, according to them, had been awaiting signature.

“Who is your doctor?” she asked. I knew what was coming. I told her the man’s name.

She couldn’t wait to say, brightly “He’s not here on Monday”. Now I was beginning to twitch.

“That’s why I checked on Thursday and Friday and Saturday”.

“Well when did you send it in? Because there’s nothing here.” “Then where is it?”

“You need to check with the pharmacy”. “They HAVEN’T GOT IT” I said, possibly a tad loudly.

Scuffling about on the end of the phone, presumably to find a more senior person to deal with the irate old bitch and her problems.

“This is So and so”, she said, as if I should be impressed, “What do you want?”

Fine way to deal with an agitated customer. (I had some practice in my BA days.)

I attempted to explain why I was starting to become annoyed but the woman didn’t care, dismissing it completely, “never mind about that, what do you want?” (Making me sound like some sort of pest)

“I want the script I’ve been waiting for since last Monday.”

“Well there’s no trace of it here, you’ll have to call the pharmacy.”

“The fucking pharmacy doesn’t answer the fucking phone!” It was getting late and it was quite possible they would have reverted to not answering, but I had blown my cork and couldn’t speak coherently any more.

“I don’t like your language. You’ll just have to check with the pharmacy.”

How can these people not know whether a script has been approved and sent? It’s a controlled substance that everyone is so hysterical about, so to have it floating about somewhere in cyberspace seems a little casual, to my way of thinking.

The clinic has a Care Manager who has tried to sort this out, but even she could not help that day and I felt that they were being deliberately unhelpful, who knows why.

Anyway, I am done with excuses and done with their attitude of treating me like one of those awkward old buggers who ought obligingly to be dead. No doubt they had a big laugh after my last call about the old English fool who calls up and curses at them Well no more.

Next month I shall try my luck with a different facility, which is a big bore because I am really tired of relating over and over my very long medical history. I think I’ll compress it for them:

I’m 72. I have pain everywhere. Need oxy. Can you provide it once a month without torturing me?

We’ll see. I had problems back in Washington State too, so I am not all that hopeful, but at least I may get a doctor who is there for the whole week.