MAKING A DOCTOR’S APPOINTMENT AT UMASS MEMORIAL

MORNING QUARTET

I was having a dream about how I hadn’t yet managed to see a doctor about whatever it was that happened to me a few weeks ago. Two weeks? Three?

For the past few weeks, they’ve been researching my Pacemaker. Apparently my telling them that I can’t have an MRI because it would suck the Pacemaker out of my chest leaving me bleeding and quite probably, dead as the proverbial door nail.

What make door nails deader than other things? Has anyone done any research on this issue? No? Well, isn’t it about time?

The Front Door at UMass Memorial where they said I didn’t have an appointment

Meanwhile, back at the doctor and hospital, apparently a mere patient with the implant can’t say “No, don’t do that, it will kill me.” There are all these privacy laws in place, so mere information from the original source — me — is inadequate to stop the progress of grinding towards this very expensive test that I don’t merely not need, but which would end my life.

It took almost a week of research by the doctor’s nurse to track down my device and note that it cannot be allowed anywhere near those big magnets. She called the manufacturer, but privacy laws forbade them from saying anything about it. That I had the information was apparently irrelevant. Calling my cardiologist — again — was a no go. Privacy laws.

Meanwhile, I got a call from the MRI people to schedule an appointment. I had already had this same discussion with the nurse and said “No, no, no MRI no, not ever” but UMass Memorial does not give up easily.

So I said “I can’t have an MRI. I have a Pacemaker. A metal one. NO MRI. Never ever.”

“When did you get the Pacemaker?”

“Four years ago,” I replied.

“Oh,” she said.

That was the end of that call. Next I heard from the nurse who said she was really sorry about that call from the MRI group, but she had explained it, really she had and I said I believed her, really I did.

Yesterday I got a bundle of papers from Blue Cross to announce that they were happy to pay the gazillion dollars it would cost for the MRI that I can’t have because — y’know — it would kill me.

Valet parking at UMass Memorial — where they said I didn’t have an appointment

I sighed. Put the papers on the kitchen counter and went on with my day, pretending nothing had happened. It was too stupid and I just couldn’t deal with more stupidity. Especially medical stupidity.

But all night, I dreamed that I was trying to just talk to a doctor to see if anything even needed to be done for this “issue,” whatever it is. I think it’s related to my migraines  — a complicated, advanced version of the aura you get before a migraine. If you get migraines — with auras — you know what I mean. It affects your sight and makes you dizzy, sometimes nauseated … and occasionally gives every evidence of your having a stroke. But it isn’t a stroke. It just looks like one.

Another view of UMass Memorial — where they still said I didn’t have an appointment

It goes away without a trace and no amount of testing or tracking will find any evidence that it happened. Moreover, there are a dozen other things it could also be, all of which leave nothing in their wake. They happen, they scare the pants off you and yours — and vanish.

And may — or may not — ever occur again.

More parking lots at (you guessed it) UMass Memorial

This has happened a few times through my 71 years. For a while, after  one or another surgery when I was terribly thin — emaciated — it happened fairly often. Good thing I weighed so little since strong men had to haul my butt upstairs until I came to. Since the cancer and heart surgery, the worst part has been occasional dizziness, but none of those screaming seizures.

I had one, though, a few weeks ago for no apparent reason. Although I don’t think it was important and still don’t think it was medically significant, my doctor thinks I should at least have a chat with a neurologist. I agreed to the chat because how big a deal should it be to see a doctor and talk a bit?

After last night’s dream, I took a deep breath and called the nurse at my doctor’s office who assured me that they shouldn’t be sending me paperwork agreeing to the MRI I can’t have and she would call the hospital and make sure a doctor — or nurse, but anyone someone medical — would call me. Soon.

I hung up. That was the second call.

The phone rang. It was the MRI group trying to set up another appointment. I said “NO MRI I HAVE A METAL PACEMAKER” and she said “Then how about an EEG?” I breathed again. Deeply. Slowly. Counting.

More views of the excessive amount of snow on the grounds of UMass Memorial

The next thing she did was ask me why I didn’t show up at my March 15th appointment. That was the one I went to where they sent us home because they said there was no appointment or maybe the nurse had screwed up the paperwork, but one way or the other, we went home.

I said “We were there. We were told there WAS no appointment and they sent us home.”

“That’s impossible,” she said.

“Would you like to see the photographs I took of the hospital? And the receipt for the parking? Would you like signed papers from my husband and I attesting to having been there and being turned away as not having an appointment?”

She said that couldn’t be because things like that don’t happen at UMass Memorial. Breathe, Marilyn. Breathe.

“I would like to talk to a doctor before I make any other arrangements. Let’s see if I even need testing.” So she connected me to the Neurology Department. They asked me my name. “Marilyn Armstrong,” I said.

She said “You don’t have to be hostile!”

The trip home from that missing appointment

I said I wasn’t being hostile. That was my name. She asked me for my last name again and I said “Armstrong.” Silence. “I still need your last name,” she said and I said (louder) “Armstrong,” so she hung up. Still breathing slowly I called again. Asked for neurology. Gave my name. Was questioned (again) about how come I never showed up for my March 15th appointment. Said I had but was told there was no appointment. Was assured that couldn’t have happened. Whatever.

“Be that as it may,” said I, “I would like to talk to a doctor. Or a nurse. Or a nurse practitioner. Or even a receptionist.” She asked me where I’d like to be seen and I said Worcester, so she connected me to the Bolton office which is 50 miles northwest of here and nowhere near Worcester.

I hung up and called back. Determination is my middle name. The remnants of the blizzard from two days before March 15 when I didn’t have an appointment

I told her — this time — that a doctor was supposed to call me this morning, but instead I heard from the testing department about setting up an MRI or some other test, but before we set up tests, can I — pause, pause, breathe in, breathe out — please talk to a medical person. So we can decide if I need testing.

She said a doctor would call and I said “Well, I’m off to the Oncologist today, so if no one calls soon, it will have to be tomorrow . I repeated my phone number, name, date of birth and reminded her that this was the ONLY telephone number I have and it is NOT a cell phone. Try to deal with the concept of it not being a cell phone. In other words, please don’t text me.

After which I hung up and couldn’t find my new blue jeans. I gave up on that and wore the blue pants I bought months ago and forgot I owned. Went to get coffee and an English muffin with raspberry jelly.

And then I wrote this post.

How many calls was that? I’m pretty sure it was four, a basic quartet, but it gets difficult to count what with the transfers, hang ups, and calling back.

Lovely view of beautiful glass building at UMass Memorial.

Garry thought I sounded cranky so I explained and he said “Oh,” and offered to refill my cup. I still have to go to the oncologist and hope I still don’t have cancer.

It’s noon. So many more things could yet happen today. Maybe I should call off the doctor and go back to bed.

Nah. Let’s get it done already. Deferring the event will just make it even more complicated.

A BROKEN MOUSE

EDITORIAL NOTE: Mice to me means multiple tiny furry creatures who slip into my house and eat anything they can find. Mouses, on the other hand, are computer accessories. I call them mouses in the plural. Please try and cope with it, even if it sounds odd to you.


My mouse stopped working. It was fine, then suddenly, it wasn’t fine. It seemed to be multi-clicking everything. It seemed to hang the computer on most menus and was particularly persnickety working on graphics.

Logitech Mouse

I figured it must have been the last Windows “upgrade.” I probably attribute everything to one or another Windows upgrades. Why didn’t it occur to me that the mouse wasn’t working properly? Because I’ve been using some version of this same Logitech mouse forever. More than 20 years at least and I have never had one stop working.

I’ve had Microsoft mouses go bad and a couple of Dell’s too. Some of them never worked properly in the first place, but the Logitech mouses have proved as close to indestructible as anything in my electronic world. I have replaced them when they wore out. Sometimes the feet wear out and occasionally I eat one too many pieces of toast and jelly and wind up with a sticky wheel. I’m pretty sure jam is not good for mouses.

The feet can come unglued or the buttons stops spinning properly. Fair is fair. I work my mouses hard and everything will wear out.

But. None of them ever stopped working.

I had finally concluded that there was something wrong with the mouse having tried every other thing that ought to have fixed it. That’s when I read that there was a thing called the “dreaded double-click effect” that apparently has been known to occur in Logitech mouses. Never to one of mine, but apparently well enough known as a glitch that it was worth mentioning.

I ordered two more mouses — one exactly like this one (which is from the other computer that I use only occasionally). It is smaller, almost a “travel-size” mouse … and a bigger one. I will let my hand decide which one it likes better.

But the thing that’s funny is that it took me almost a full week to dope out the mouse was broken. I am so used to these mouses always being just fine, it never crossed my mind that something — other than a dead battery — could go wrong.

I think you could call that a strong recommendation for the product. Even though this particular mouse up and died.

LOST IN TRANSLATION – BLACK & WHITE VS. COLOR

BLACK & WHITE SUNDAY: AFTER AND BEFORE Y2-01

From Paula:

I almost let March go by without Black & White Sunday, and with a shorter weekend I only managed to post it today. Here’s a challenge which invites you to post the same image in colour and black and white. I call it “After and Before” and it is a recurrent event, the first one this year.


Philodendron – After

I’m glad you remembered. I so very much look forward to your challenges. They make me think … and I don’t think nearly as much as I ought.

Philodendron – Before

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ODDBALLS IN A SPRING THAT HASN’T SPRUNG. YET.

Cee’s Odd Ball Photo Challenge: March 25, 2018

Where things go and what lies behind

Spring was a week ago and a few minutes ago, snowflakes were drifting from the sky. It wasn’t much of a snow and only lasted a few minutes, but it isn’t quite the weather for which we have been hoping.

Cold, mainly. I think — I believe — the snow or at least any significant amount of it, is finished. But the temperatures are well below normal and I’m ready to get out of heavy sweaters and into something a little more frivolous and lightweight.

Garry digging out

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SQUARING UP THE SQUARES

Square pictures showing squares and sometimes, circles. But in this post, no circles. Just squares and hairs.

What could be simpler?

Dog hair and squares. It’s hard to find anywhere in this house that doesn’t have dog hair on it. Or my hair on it. This is one super-duper hairy environment.

Seeking squares and circles for the month of March! From the exciting world of BeckyB, this is …

Squaring the SQUAREs IN MARCH