Beep…beep…BEEP.
“Okay, thank you, I am awake.” I scolded the alarm clock. “Five thirty, ugh. What business do you have, getting me up at this hour? Oh…yes. Hospital appointment. Lovely.”
I decided to see to the two dogs and get some coffee inside me, before stirring hubby.
“Let him sleep a bit more, bless.”
I let the dogs out for their morning constitutional, got my precious coffee and woke hubby at 6 AM. Amazingly, we were both up and out of the house by 6.30 AM. Dogs given with their bikkies. Check. Lights off, whilst it was still dark it would not be for much longer. Check. Jeep keys. Check. Off we go.
We decided to get gas for Georgie the jeep on the way there, since we managed to leave on time.
It was extremely windy.
Georgie’s door was whipped out of hubby’s hand before he could say ‘the wind just whipped the door from my hand…’
[The strap, which serves as a hinge, attaches the door to the jeep so that it doesn’t open too far. The metal bracket of this piece snapped off, leaving the screws still in the door…forget that. It is easier to show you.]
So, poor Georgie Girl started her day with a broken arm. And after she was good enough to start right away this morning and keep running without further assistance…shameful.
Arrived at the hospital, I was seen on time. Amazing. The Scan, it turned out, was not one scan but THREE, hence the appointment was to last all the morning!
Happy, happy, joy, joy…
The scanner, to my GREAT relief, was not a ‘tube’, but open.
Lying as still as I could, I closed my eyes and my mind went to my happy place—at home, playing with the dogs—whilst the scanner closed upon my face. Three 5 minute sessions; one upon arrival, the second separated by half an hour, and the third by an hour and a half; followed immediately by a twenty minute affair, and I was finally ‘done’.
We return home, via the dollar store and Home Depot, to buy new screws for, the winged, Georgie’s hinge-bracket. Oh My God!
Let me just tell you, dear reader, Home Depot is NOT Lowes…is not near the quality of Lowes, nor is it as clean!
I was instructed to keep ‘well hydrated’ for the scans, thus I ask where the bathrooms are upon arrival at HD, to be directed toward the back of the store. I do not find them and ask another staff member, who directs me to their ‘to buy’ bathroom section.
“No, I wish to use the bathroom…”
“Oh. Well, that is at the FRONT of the store.”
“Then why was I directed to the back?”
“Who did that, someone who works here?”
“Yes…”
“Oh, that cannot be!”
I choose not to further this argument and make my way, hastily, toward the ‘to use’ bathroom, whilst hubby locates the screws.
At the check-out there was no cashier open, just a woman helping people with the self-check section. The same woman who told me the bathrooms were at the back of the store. I wished hubby luck as he scanned the screws, hoping that no problem arose from it, so requiring her help. No problem, everything worked, thankfully.
Finally home, vowing NEVER to use Home Depot again, we discover that the dogs have, apparently, been very well behaved after we were forced to leave them for six hours. I let them out and give them both another two bikkies each, for being such good furry children. We open the mail.
Now, I need to backtrack a little here. Those of you who know myself and hubby will remember a visit to the E.R. earlier this year involving hubby and a stomach problem. The ambulance men decided to focus on his heart (!?!) and so the V.A. would not accept him and the ambulance took us to Washington Regional. Whilst there overnight, the consultant told hubby:
“You are a veteran, so why don’t you stay a few days and we can do some heart tests at the V.A.’s expense.”
I kid you not!
You can imagine what hubby said to that. I picked him up the next day.
Now, there was, and is, NOTHING wrong with his heart, but due to the ‘smells like a scam’ diagnosis the initial problem received no attention what-so-ever at that hospital. Well, of course, the problem was still there, so I drove hubby myself to the V.A. the next day—rather than risk another unwanted detour and off the wall diagnosis—and everything fell into place. His problem was solved and he has been fine ever since.
Now to the mail. Hubby blasphemes and utters a few obscenities.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, with a little caution.
“This is from EMS…the ambulance people. They want $1,200!”
“What?!”
Apparently, the V.A. did not pay them for the afore mentioned ambulance trip. At least this is what EMS said to hubby when he phoned them directly upon opening their letter. Worse than that, they claim to have written several times. This is the first letter we have received. Hubby, being a 100% disabled veteran, does not pay for medical care, wherever it is administered.
We do not mind paying our bills, but we are not going to pay for things that: 1. Are not our responsibility, and 2. Were accumulated through someone else’s error of judgement. If they had taken us to the V.A. in the first place, as we had requested, and had they not chosen to forget the real problem and make up a new, unnecessary one on the spot, this could all have been avoided.
Silly people!
So now, I await scan results and a further appointment with the surgeon, to discuss the next course of action, and hubby awaits the outcome of the ambulance farce…