I had another blog written for today about romance as literary fiction. But it'll have to wait til another day.
I'm having foot problems. Again. I apparently have Morton's neuromas in both feet. It only bothers me sometimes -- like when I wear shoes and walk. Warm weather has made things a little better for me because I can wear loose sandals and keep the pressure off those nerves, which keeps my third and fourth toes from feeling like someone set fire to them. Friday I see my orthopedic surgeon to go over my treatment options.
How did this happen? It can be caused by wearing pointy-toed stilettos. Have y'all ever seen me in those? Uh, no. Ask the Playfriends. I'm the queen of sensible shoes. It can also be caused by high impact athletic activities like jogging. Again, no.
This "just happened." Just happened like my medial epicondylitis (AKA tennis elbow), my lactose intolerance, the bone spur in my shoulder, my fibromyalgia and my restless leg syndrome.
Quite frankly, I'm tired of s%#t "just happening." I want to at least have had FUN before the pain and aggravation starts.
But what's really got my feathers ruffled is the all too cavalier attitude of some medical office personnel toward time. MY time. There seems to be an M. Deity attitude amongst some, and my orthopedic clinic displayed that attitude yesterday morning. I won't name names, but their shiny, new building sits like a domed cathedral on a hill.
I had an appointment for nerve testing on April 12, but it was cancelled at the last minute because the machine broke. At least they caught me before I'd left home. The test was rescheduled for yesterday at 9:00 AM. It takes 30 minutes for me to get from my apartment to this office and I allowed extra time for traffic. I signed in and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At 9:30 I inquired at the desk only to be told the tech hadn't been told I was there, had begun another procedure and didn't have time to do mine.
"Can you come back at noon?"
If looks could kill, several of their staff members would be six feet under. Yes, I could come back at noon, but what about my time? What was I supposed to do until then? I didn't want to drive 30 minutes home and then 30 minutes back.
So I went to a shoe store and looked at even wider and uglier shoes than I already wear (why are wide, ugly, good-for-your-feet shoes so expensive?), used a birthday certificate to get a free grande latte at Starbucks, read the newspaper and then scribbled the bare bones of this blog in a little notebook I carry around for those times when inspiration (or wrath) strikes.
And. I. Fumed.
If I didn't show up for my appointment, they'd charge me for it.
If THEY don't show up, they offer lame apologies and reschedule. Why can't I charge them?
When I returned at noon, I signed in again and said quite loudly, "Would you please make sure the technician knows I'm here for the second time today?"
Within seconds I was greeted by the tech who apologized profusely. Apparently the office staff had screwed up her day too.
I'd consider going to another clinic, but that really isn't an option because this foot specialist is the best. Period.
So I'll continue going there, but maybe now they'll know not to piss off the bilateral Morton's neuroma lady because when they do, I speak loudly in the waiting room and write blogs about you.
So... what's ruffled YOUR feathers lately?
P.S. To answer my own question, $$$$ spells time.
