Borange

I've started a half-dozen posts this week but can't seem to focus on anything long enough to finish it. The good news is that DieSuckah Health Insurance is now reviewing my second appeal of their decision to deny me a prescription that's supposed to help with my fuzzy-brain.

On Wednesday, after being off steroids for almost 6 weeks, I went for my monthly Zometa fix. I asked Nurse R if my veins would have improved. Her eyes spun around like slot machine wheels as she tried to decide on an answer. "Um, sure, I guess that could happen," she finally replied. Then she failed to hit a vein on the first stick, and blew a vein on the second stick. They follow a strict two-sticks-per-nurse policy, so she called over Nurse L, who managed to hit a live one on her second stick. I guess my veins are not going to get better. Although I don't look forward to it, I think it's much harder on the nurses than it is on me

I finally got the okay to have some dental work done and Thursday morning was my dentist's first available. I would finally (!) get my bridge, after living with a big hole and chewing on the other side for more than a year. I would have crawled there on my hands and knees if I'd had to! It was a marathon 2+ hour appointment and I left with temporary crowns; in two weeks I'll get permanent ones along with my new little bridge. I would have named it The Bridge To Poverty, except that my dentist is still treating me for free, bless her heart. I'm pretty sure this bridge will be the last of her largesse, but it's probably saving me $2,000 or more. (Like I haven't already put all three of her kids through college!)

I left with major headache, jaw ache, and a face full of novacaine. I should have gone straight to bed, but I had an afternoon appointment with a counselor at the cancer center. After smearing a half-cup of yogurt across my numb face, and wiping most of it off, I dragged myself downtown for the appointment. This is my third counselor: the first was a brilliant grad student, but the grant for her services ended. The second was a brilliant counselor on staff; unfortunately, her position was eliminated. I'd met Counselor 3 once before; a very nice lady, but no rapport. This appointment was actually sort of a thanks-but-no-thanks; I felt I owed her face time for that. (Why? Why do I feel I owe her anything?) So, With tingling nose, with fat, flapping upper lip, looking and sounding like a stroke victim, I tried to let her down gently. "I zhuth doe thick I knee hep rhye now." She seemed genuinely surprised, which sort of confirmed my decision: she was really not on my wavelength.

Intermittent crankiness aside, I think I'm remarkably well adjusted for someone with an incurable cancer. But that's just my opinion.