chapter 49: conText

on tuesday April 12th, i awaited the call from USC.  they were supposed to schedule my cardiac MRI by the morning.  but i’d heard nothing.  still, i assumed they were simply running late.  i was right:  they were running so late, they didn’t call at all.  “not at all” is inarguably late.  VERY LATE.

so i phoned Dr. Y’s nurse on wednesday and left a message.  i waited…and waited.  in the meantime, i rescheduled with Phoenix.  the new date:  April 28th.  anxious get my cardiac clearance, i left a second voicemail with USC.

on thursday, i was concerned.  Dr. Y had told me i probably wouldn’t be able to have the test ’til thursday, but the day was coming and going, and there was no word from them.  i called again.  message number 3.

by friday, i was flat-out mad.  why were they not calling me back????  i’d cancelled my BRAIN SURGERY–for the SECOND TIME; my parents were looking at a $180 charge due to a rescheduled flight; i had others waiting and rearranging, for the sole purpose of me being available for the test which hadn’t been performed.  i left another message for the nurse, as well as an urgent message at the front desk of Cardiology.

finally, as afternoon came with no word from anyone at California’s supposed bastion of medical excellence, i got in my car and hightailed it over there.  i showed up at the big brown desk with the three perky receptionists, indignant.  i met with the nurse, indignant.  i laid it out for the doctor.  indignant.

Dr. Y was upset.  he thought i’d already been scheduled and everything was taken care of.  he was disappointed with his nurse and clearly agitated.  it’s not good to hear your cardiologist say, “this is a really big mess.”

at some point during the doctor’s absence, the nurse came in.  “here’s your paperwork.  your test will be April 28th.”

“NO, it WON’T.  my SURGERY is scheduled for the 28th!”

she u-turned and left the room.  when Dr. Y returned, i told him this was ridiculous; i’d met with him on the EIGHTH.  ONE WEEK AGO.  the test couldn’t happen ’til the TWENTY-EIGHTH?!”  he said he’d do his best to fix things.  “i’m glad you came down here.”  he was very apologetic, and very understanding.  he knew i was incensed by the dropping of the ball, and he was determined to pick up said ball and score.  he promised i’d get a call, first thing monday morning.  he also gave me his personal cell number, so i could reach him on his Blackberry.

i programmed his number into my phone, and later in the evening i received perpetual texts from a friend of mine, who was watching a movie i’d recommended they rent.  all night long, they were sending me favorite lines from the odd, hilarious, and sometimes vulgar comedy starring Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly.  with the movie in mind, i woke up the next day and re-watched it myself.  i began to text back favored quotes from funny scenes.  at 5:06, i texted Dr. Y with an idea:  i wondered if i could just show up at USC at 6 or 7 monday morning, and perhaps get slipped into the queue for testing.  at 5:15, i texted my friend another favorite movie quote.  it was from a bizarre deleted scene found in the Special Features of the DVD.  after i hit “send,” a revelation struck like a bolt of lightning–

remember “indignant?”  at the doctor’s office?

as it turned out, my acrimonious disposition with Dr. Y was a perfect set up for a perfect accident.  a beautiful mistake.  a stupid idiot screw-up.

the movie quote i texted my friend involved a fierce threat.  a punching bag reference.

AND

BUT

WELL

i accidentally sent it to the wrong number.

i sent it to Dr. Y.

i sent it to Dr. Y.

i sent it to my cardiologist.

i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.  i sent it to Dr. Y.

nothing more to say.

guess i’ll be dying on the operating table now…

a warning:  it’s vulgar.

having said that,

submitted for your approval; enjoy:


Advertisements
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s