My doctor's grandfather died and so my appointment had to move to next week, which was well because that's when I have to go back to UCSF and Marin General is set to do the CT Scan to bring there with me. Fine. Fine. I'll just hang a wreck till it's copacetic... might as well... since it's not any easier to get out of my own way then as now....
So anyway, UCSF called me earlier to rattle my cage all down the block and back by telling me that in addition to this set-up they have scheduled me for an MRI somewhere near the ball park in SF on 1 May, after which I am to trot back over to UCSF and see my neurosurgeon. I'm flipping on the phone while the lady is repeatedly asking me to get a pen and write it down, and I'm going, but, but, but, how can I have an MRI with the damn titanium plate in my neck? Are you sure about this? She goes off to ask. Yes, we're sure.
Did I say the magic words when I called them the other day? Have they got me confused with someone else? Are they surgifying fiends who are just grasping at likely suspects? I'm just not at all sure which of the complaints I blurted on the phone to the surgeon's assistant has brought this insanity down on my head. I'm alarmed she seemed to know she had to drill me to get the pen in my hand and write it down.
But this news pretty much insures I'm on a two-week doctor trip and going to be blogging as I can from wherever my sorry old self is tolerated by friends and family.
Sheesh, everybody in the real world talks so fast....
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