Yesterday I got through the last round of my medical appointments (hopefully for the YEAR), and I’m glad to have them over with. I left the house at 9:45 for my 10:30 appointment with the hematologist armed with my Kindle, my iPod, and a big-ass bottle of water. I got there right on time, was called back for my vitals half an hour later, sat in another waiting room for another hour, and then in the exam room for another half hour. I had my Kindle, I had my water, I had my phone for texting, and I just kicked back and relaxed while I waited.
Man, that place has some TRAFFIC going through it. They must have funneled upwards of 30 people in and out while I sat in the waiting room (my hematologist and his partners are also oncologists). At the two hour mark, the nurse came in and discussed my lab results with me.
Boring story short, my numbers are fine, my B12 is a bit low, I need to up my B12 (which I take sublingually), and if it’s still low next time we’ll discuss getting me taught to give myself B12 injections. Back in 3 months for more labs (but don’t need to bother with the office visit), and back another 3 months after that for more labs and then an office visit.
I left the office with enough time to run to McDonald’s and get a cheeseburger, which I ate in the parking lot of my weight loss surgeon’s office building. I regretted the cheeseburger almost immediately because it was overseasoned and super salty and just blech. Also, I kept burping up onion, which is ever so lovely.
(Aside: when I worked at McDonald’s back when the world began, those onions on the burgers were called “recons” because they were reconstituted onions. I wonder if they still have to reconstitute pans of them at a time?)
I sat in the parking lot and listened to Keith and the Girl on my iPod while I cleaned out my purse, and then I put the iPod away and read on my Kindle until 15 minutes before my appointment. I thought that perhaps if I showed up a little early, maybe they’d take me a little early. And even if they didn’t, I could sit in one of the huge, comfy chairs in the waiting room and watch some bad soap opera acting.
The soap opera acting was SO bad that I ended up sitting and reading until I tuned into the conversation going on over at the reception window. At first I thought the patient was having an issue with having to pay her copay, but after some intense listening on my part, I discovered that she owed the office some money for not showing up for previous appointments, and they wouldn’t allow her to keep her scheduled appointment unless she either paid or made arrangements to pay.
I was called back to be weighed and have my blood pressure taken, and then somehow I got into a conversation with the nurse wherein I told her that I was on antibiotics and feeling just fine, but concerned that I’d develop a yeast infection from them, so I was gagging down a cup of yogurt every day. (I have come to the conclusion that yogurt is a taste I just don’t care for, no matter the brand, no matter the flavor, just ugh. Though the Greek stuff is not bad, it’s not something I would ever CRAVE, either.)
And she told me that you can use vinegar to get rid of a yeast infection, both as a douche and to apply externally. Who knew? But I’ll still gag down the yogurt a day to prevent it from occurring in the first place, thanks.
I was so geared up to deal with the surgeon being his usual jackass self that when he came in and was perfectly nice and perfectly brief and the hell out of there, that I was thrown for a loop.
THAT DAMN MAN LOVES TO KEEP ME OFF-BALANCE.
(Seriously, can you believe it’s been 4 years (the end of this month) since I had weight loss surgery??)
When I walked out of the building, it was 2:20, so I went over to TJ Maxx, browsed for a while, and then headed into Huntsville to meet Fred for a super-early dinner. I’d been craving Olive Garden since before my birthday, and I figured that it’s a rare occasion when Fred and I are both in the right area at the right time of day, so I was going to drag him there for dinner whether he liked it or not.
I was almost at Olive Garden when my cell phone rang. It was my plastic surgeon’s office, reminding me that I had an appointment today at 3:15.
“I do?” I said in surprise. She said that I did, I figured it was some sort of follow up appointment for my lower body lift, and I told her I’d be there, and hung up.
When I got to Olive Garden, Fred was waiting, and I told him about the call I’d just gotten. I’d actually thought about it after I hung up, and now would be an odd time for a follow up appointment on the lower body lift. I had that done in May of 2008, so it wouldn’t be a two year follow up, and in any case, I pretty distinctly remembered him telling me I didn’t need to come back unless I had any problems.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Call them back and ask.”
We went inside and were seated, and after we placed our orders, I took my cell phone back outside and called them back.
“I don’t mean to be stupid,” I said after I told them who I was. “But can you tell me what my appointment is for?”
She looked and then said “Juvederm.” Oh no. No, no, no. Nothing injected into my face, thank you.
“I didn’t make that appointment,” I told her. “I need to cancel it.”
We discussed it for a few minutes, decided that maybe the name had been entered incorrectly (or hell, maybe there’s another Robyn Anders0n who goes there, who knows?), she apologized, I told her it was okay, and we hung up.
Our food came really quickly, we ate, got our leftovers boxed up, and were headed home by 4.
(The best thing about eating out: leftovers for lunch the next day! In this case, I’ve got my leftovers for lunch today, and Fred’s for tomorrow!)
I always hate being away from home for so long, and am certain every time that I’ll find the house in smoking ruins, the dogs out running wild, and the chickens running around like idiots (which they do pretty much all the time, so that would be nothing new). But the house was in one piece, the cats were ready for their snack, and the litter boxes were ready for scooping!
I have no appointments for the rest of the week, so I’m going to take advantage and (1) do some damn housecleaning and (2) start watching the new season of Weeds, which just came out on DVD!
Speaking of TV, we watched the first 2 hours of the new season of 24 on Sunday (well, the first hour on Sunday, the second on Monday), and have you guys seen this? Because Katee Sackhoff is on the show (Battlestar Gallactica fans will remember her as Starbuck), and let me tell you what – that girl has been BOTOXED to within an inch of her life. Her face literally DOES NOT MOVE as she tries valiantly to emote. At one point I burst out laughing because she was trying SO VERY HARD to frown, and her eyebrows did not so much as twitch.
Young Hollywood, please STOP THIS SHIT. It’s horrifying.
Are you, at this exact second, saying to yourself, “Self, I wonder if it is at all possible to make Pioneer Woman’s friend Pam Anderson’s Best Baked Beans Ever, only instead of making and eating them right away, can them? Is that possible? Do you think, Self? Could it BE?”
I’m here to tell you that yes indeedy, it is not only possible but I have done it my very own self!
Back around the 4th of July, I made the Baked Beans, and they were indeed fabulous. With just the two of us here eating them, it took forever to get ’em gone, but we managed for we are nothing if not gluttons.
We immediately began discussing the possibility of making and then canning them, and I got excited at the idea and went out and got more canned pork ‘n beans (I had everything else on hand). Then of course those pork ‘n beans sat in the pantry until one of them fell on my foot for the 15th time, and then I decided to get my ass in gear and get them the hell out of there and use them the hell up.
I followed the recipe (except for the part where she puts green pepper in, because green peppers are an abomination upon the world until I need them for making jalapeno jelly) up to the point where you put everything in the oven. At that point, I heated the beans up ’til they came to a boil, put them in pint jars with a few pieces of bacon already at the bottom, and pressure cooked them at 10 pounds of pressure for (I think) 75 minutes (follow the canning time for baked beans, found in the wonderful Ball Blue Book of Canning, or whatever the hell it’s called). I ended up with 4 or 5 (I don’t remember and am too lazy to go the 10 feet to the canning cabinet) pints, and one half-pint.
Over the weekend, we popped open the half-pint, and I tell you what: two thumbs up!
Of course, the issue is that we don’t really eat baked beans all that often, but when we want them, there they’ll be!
This tiny sweet girl:
is Misty. (Resembles Steely Dan more than a little, doesn’t she!) Misty has a condition known as megacolon (you can read more about the condition here) and she needs surgery to correct the condition. Unfortunately, her owner cannot afford the surgery, and another local animal charity, No Greater Love, has stepped in to help him raise the funds for surgery.
You can read more about Misty here.
Even if you can only afford to give a few dollars, it all adds up in the end. Every little bit helps!
I tell you, it’s two steps forward, one step back with these kittens. One time you go in, and they take very little encouraging to climb into your lap, and other times they seem to revert almost back to where they were when we got them. It’s frustrating, but I know we’ve got time and there’s no rush.
It’s especially frustrating when they lay on the floor across the room and roll around on their backs and you wish like hell you could pick them up and squeeze ’em. They’re so freakin’ cute and they KNOW it!
This morning, I walked into the room and sat down, and Fagen was in my lap in seconds. It took Steely Dan a few more minutes to climb into my lap, but he eventually did. I sat there for twenty minutes with them just rolling around in my lap, purring like mad. Now, watch – next time I go in there, they’ll look at me like they’ve never seen me before in their lives.
I think they just like to mess with me.
“WHAT? What is this you tell me? There are scritches going on and I am not being scritched?!”
“O Lord, why have you forsaken me?!”
“I shall wander the cat tree in search of scritches even if it takes me 40 years!”
“Mission accomplished!”
“Now you may rub mah belleh!” (Please note, those are Fred’s hairy knees, not mine!)
Happy, snoozin’ Newt. Don’t be fooled by the sweet face. Yesterday morning I walked out onto the side steps, and SOMEONE had eaten and then vomited up parts to some sort of small rodent right there on the top step. I had to kick a RODENT LIVER AND SOME OTHER ORGAN off the steps so I didn’t have to keep looking at it as I went by.
Previously
2008: I tend to assume if someone wants to know something specific, they’ll ask.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: I think I took my first steps toward being an adult yesterday.
2005: Who the fuck knew?
2004: A Kitchenaid mixer!
2003: “My ass. Please let him go for my ass, and not my throat or my eyes, I’ve got plenty of ass to spare.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Double ear infection, thankyouverymuch.