blackbird.jpg (30437 bytes)

2005-09-06 @ 9:57 p.m.
blow me

First of all, I would just like to thank everyone for their support. I really appreciate it. Iíve hit a rough patch in the last couple of weeks, with my health problems and the stress of the move and I havenít been seeing my therapist as often. I really have no other place to go. And its rather ironic, because I run support groups at work, but I canít really use them because Iím running them. So Iíve been flying solo through all this, and it hasnít been easy.

But you want to hear something funny? Of course, this is wittykitty-land. I was approached at work to co-facilitate a new group thatís not related to my department. Its run by one of the social workers. Sheís met me and thinks Iím very positive (and the winner for Best Actress goes to...) and has a good sense of humor and then she talked to my boss who gave me a glowing review naturally. She just got funding for a Wellnessss Group. Iím all for that. With some of the groups I co-facilitate, people are allowed to bitch and moan and wallow in self pity (now donít go pointing any fingers now, I was just having a bad day yesterday. We all have them). Anyways, I hate that. I always try and jump in and tell people what is good about their lives even if its only the fact that they got their lazy asses out of bed and got down to our offices. (Heh...I donít usually say ďlazy assesĒ...I just think it.) Sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesnít. It depends on how receptive the person is.

Anyways, I think its pretty cool that this woman thought of me out of a 130 person office to co-facilitate a group with her. And I really like her too. Sheís very bubbly and easy to talk to. I remember when we had our St@ff Day in June she wore her original Prom Dress from 1970 with purple daisies and chiffon. We laughed about it in the bathroom at the country club because we were looking at ourselves in the mirror and she looked like a cheer leading prom queen and I looked like Janice Joplin hippy chick. It was pretty funny. So weíll see.

In the meantime, when Iím not sleeping off my infection (which incidently, donít ever go on the internet and look up your so-called ďdiseaseĒ, because its highly likely youíll see frightening pictures of people with goiters sprouting out of their eyeballs and arms growing out of their asses and all sorts of freaky things. Dammit. I hate that. I looked up the blood enzyme thingie that I supposedly have and it had a list of diseases that could result from a high CPK count and they included muscular dystrophy and heart attacks. Yay! What it actually entails are tiny fragments of muscle tissue breaking away and flowing through your blood stream. Doesnít that sound cool? Well, doesnít it??? Fuck no. It sounds like an episode of ďEmergency RoomĒ on the Discovery Channel. Like why the fuck are my muscles flaking off and flowing through my blood stream? I didnít say you could do that, did I?

I have been sleeping a lot though. I guess I was resting up for today. My stress test. Whatís that witty? What stress test? Exactly. I really do need a personal assistant or maybe a collar with a bell, because I am such a freakiní ditzbrain of late. I had gotten a letter in the mail from a doctorís office a couple of days ago. I vaguely looked at it, like yup....I got an appointment Tuesday. Better write it down. Did I write it down? Nope. Did I put the letter in a safe place? Nope. Did I know where the doctorís office was? Nope. Did I know the doctorís name? Nope. But dammit, I knew it was sometime on Tuesday. Yay me!!!!

So I had to call my regular MDís office and eat crow.

Witty: ďHi, this is that snarky witty know, the one who complained about your nurse last week. Yeah, that one. Ummm, you know the appointment you made for me for the stress test? Well, I lost the letter you sent and I donít know where to go, but I know its in the Village. Can you help me out?Ē
Corporate MD office clone: ďOur computers are down at the moment, but thereís only one place in the Village that does stress tests, hereís the number.Ē
Witty: ďOKĒ. I then called the number and told them my name and they didnít know who I was. Upon setting the phone down I started the stress test a little early by stomping around my apartment angrily because I couldnít find a simple letter telling me where I was supposed to be. I then called back my regular doctor. Fortunately their computers were back up and I realized why the heart place didnít know who I was. It was because I was scheduled for a pulmonary a pulmonary place.

Huh? I had only flunked the one at my doctorís office because the Nazi Nurse had totally thrown off my timing by counting really fast and then having me wait at the last minute to breathe into the tube. Bitch. The whole situation had reminded me of the Peanuts cartoon when Lucy used to grab the football away from Charlie Brown when he was just about ready to kick it. We even had a terse discussion about it. But, of course, Nazis in scrubs always win. dammit.

So my mom came over to get me at 3. Once I knew it was only a pulmonary test, it really didnít seem necessary, but she insisted. So I got the paperwork at the window. The nurse thought it was for my mother. No, its for the young, somewhat healthy looking person. Thanks. And then it was time to meet Steve the Pulmonologist.

You know, Iím really beginning to wonder whatís in the water here in the Village. Because good olí Steverino was a lot like good olí Brent-a-rino the flaky landlord...extremely hyper, to the point of endangering those around him who are merely existing and trying not to trip over their shoelaces. He was fit and trim and his eyes were an abnormally bright and I was like geeze, I wish I could I score whatever heís smoking. I finally sat down in the chair and suddenly he came hurtling towards me on a wheelie chair and suddenly my knees were nearly jammed into his crotchal area as he handed me the mouth thing to breathe into. I looked down briefly and Iím sure I went a little pale, but by then it was time to give head breathe into the mouth thing. Naturally I was a little angsty. Why?


He did give me some instruction, but when it came time to actually do the pulmonary part, he once again rappelled across the office in his office chair and again nearly hit his balls on my clenched knees and was like 2 inches away from my face saying ďok, youíre going to take a deep, deep, deep breathe....AND.....ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

HIT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jesus Christ, I almost went into cardiac arrest, blowing into that damn thing with the half crazed yupster yelling HIT IT over and over again. He was so over the top, that for a split second I almost thought he was going to start speaking in tongues or something. Needless to say, other than a weak first attempt (really from fright), I did extremely well on the breath test. I told him I had performance anxiety and that I thought I was going in for a stress test today because Iíve actually been having chest pains not breathing problems. He just smiled this weird secret smile and kept nodding, like he was wondering where his next triple latte was coming from.

Afterwards my mom took me out for pizza (perfect for someone with dangerously high cholesterol) and when I got home I was walking up the steps to my apartment when I found this leaf. And I swear to God, I did nothing in Photoshop to change it in appearance except to enhance its contrast against some mattboard. So Iím hoping the heart is an omen. Thanks again for all your kind words in the last 24 hours. Youíre the best!

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty