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There is something wrong with me.
No duh.
It only took two months, several appointments and three different doctors to come up with that brilliant assessment. Not that they know what it is, yet, but we have confirmed it - whatever it is - exists.
Next step is a colonoscopy in mid-January. Until then I'm to suck it up and continue treating myself with over the counter pain relievers (but nothing with aspirin because aspirin is apparently of the devil or some such thing - near as I can figure when you have an issue with random bleeding and whatnot, anything that thins the blood is a bad thing, at least until you figure out what the hell is going on), etc.
Trust me, a month is more than enough time for me to work myself up into an anguished tizzy of dread.
And finally, Captain was kind enough to come with me to the hospital for today's appointment (not that he had much choice in the matter). Since he needed to return to work as soon as possible, he was in uniform. While we were sitting in the waiting room ... waiting, an elderly gentleman someone addressed as "Sarge" waddled by, stopped to look at my husband and said "They're letting big ones into the army these days" (or something to that affect as I was so sure I'd miss heard him I didn't quite register the exact terminology). Old fart waddled off and I just looked at Captain with my mouth open.
"Did he - did he just call you fat?"
Captain told me not to worry about it, but I was already all worked up about being in a strange place full of cranky-ass old people (we were the youngest patients in the waiting room by a good thirty to forty years) and seeing a doctor I've never met before to discuss a procedure I don't want. "He called you fat! How rude!"
My voice, I admit, was starting to rise just a wee bit.
Again, Captain told me not to get upset.
"I'll get upset if I want to get upset. Respect is a two way street, just because he's old does not give him the right to - How rude!" And then I sat there, knitting furiously, while a room full of elderly people looked at me like I'd grown a second head. I glared right back. I was tempted to chase the ass down and make him apologize because I'm pretty sure that I could run down an eighty-year old geezer with colon problems if I had to - but Captain wanted me to drop it.
If he'd called me fat, I could at least see that. I would have tried to kick him in the knee or something for it, but it would have at least had some merit. But Captain? What the hell is wrong with old people these days?
No duh.
It only took two months, several appointments and three different doctors to come up with that brilliant assessment. Not that they know what it is, yet, but we have confirmed it - whatever it is - exists.
Next step is a colonoscopy in mid-January. Until then I'm to suck it up and continue treating myself with over the counter pain relievers (but nothing with aspirin because aspirin is apparently of the devil or some such thing - near as I can figure when you have an issue with random bleeding and whatnot, anything that thins the blood is a bad thing, at least until you figure out what the hell is going on), etc.
Trust me, a month is more than enough time for me to work myself up into an anguished tizzy of dread.
And finally, Captain was kind enough to come with me to the hospital for today's appointment (not that he had much choice in the matter). Since he needed to return to work as soon as possible, he was in uniform. While we were sitting in the waiting room ... waiting, an elderly gentleman someone addressed as "Sarge" waddled by, stopped to look at my husband and said "They're letting big ones into the army these days" (or something to that affect as I was so sure I'd miss heard him I didn't quite register the exact terminology). Old fart waddled off and I just looked at Captain with my mouth open.
"Did he - did he just call you fat?"
Captain told me not to worry about it, but I was already all worked up about being in a strange place full of cranky-ass old people (we were the youngest patients in the waiting room by a good thirty to forty years) and seeing a doctor I've never met before to discuss a procedure I don't want. "He called you fat! How rude!"
My voice, I admit, was starting to rise just a wee bit.
Again, Captain told me not to get upset.
"I'll get upset if I want to get upset. Respect is a two way street, just because he's old does not give him the right to - How rude!" And then I sat there, knitting furiously, while a room full of elderly people looked at me like I'd grown a second head. I glared right back. I was tempted to chase the ass down and make him apologize because I'm pretty sure that I could run down an eighty-year old geezer with colon problems if I had to - but Captain wanted me to drop it.
If he'd called me fat, I could at least see that. I would have tried to kick him in the knee or something for it, but it would have at least had some merit. But Captain? What the hell is wrong with old people these days?
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From:
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Re: Mr. Bitchy: Amen to you. I read a study that says that age somehow affects our ability to filter language to that degree (and it also leads to racially indiscreet outbursts), but still, what a coot. Taze him.
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no subject
Ah, I've decided that assholes don't change, they just get older. Your old geezer has proven my point. ;)
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no subject
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I'm sorry you're going through all this... I hope they can figure out what's up and what to do about it soon.
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no subject
And yes, he was a rude little man.
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no subject
That rude bastage. I'm envisioning him as Hank Hill's dad. And I hate Hank Hill's dad.
I really hope that in January they have good news for you.