So, Where Was I?


…Out through the night, an’ the whisperin’ breezes, to the place where they keep the imaginary diseases…

As you may have noticed, I have been somewhat sickly of late, so my last two days were spent in and around the VA hospital in Portland. My grandfather died in one, and if things are as bad as they could be, I’ll likely do the same.
Or not. If I do die, expect light posting. And for me to live-blog it. With photos. I will call it the Death Cam, and oh will my hit count rise. Imagine my joy.
I had a pretty lame physical, and one of their vampires took about a cubit of my blood  for testing. To her horror, I pretended to faint, after, when I stood up. I rolled my eyes up into my head, showing her the whites, and fell limply towards her. When I stopped and opened my eyes, the look of horror on her face was worth the whole day. I had been my usual big-sissy self when being stuck with needles, looking away, up to the ceiling… “Is that you, Momma? I’m comin to ya! Oh, so that’s what they mean by ‘going into the light’…” The fun you have at the expense of others is the finest kind, I think.
I sent a urine-gram to the lab for testing, as well, and brought home a big sack full of different items with which to collect and store my poo for testing. Now that job right there goes on my list of worse jobs to have, opening that package. She handed me the bag, and I said “What am I supposed to do with this, poop in  it, set it on fire, and ring your doorbell?” She said no.
She said they had to test me, and I frowned, and said I wasn’t ready, because I hadn’t had enough time to study for it. She said that these vials I had to fill at home, with my handy new white plastic cowboy hat (adds new meaning to the phrase ‘Go shit in your hat’, don’t it) were just preliminary, and that I would have to come in later, prepared to poop. I said that I would eat a big ole enchilada dinner so I’d be prepared with plenty, but she said that would not be necessary, just to eat normally the night before. I raised my eyebrow knowingly and said ah yes. Whiskey, and pistachio nuts. Then I told her I was kidding, and that I didn’t drink whiskey. It would be wine.
And apparently, it is bad form to refer to your handy dandy urine holder cup thingy as a ‘communion cup’, or your poo storage tube thingy as a ‘wafer plate’.
I have a lady doctor, and I am sure she is pondering a colonoscopy for me. Right now, I am fielding phone calls for appointments to various specialists, and I shall be doing the back and forth thing here in a couple of weeks, no doubt. I waited three hours between appointments yesterday, bored out of my mind, surrounded by germ infested snot factories. One does not go to the hospital to get well, but I am feeling poorly enough to alarm me, so oh well.
There are two people in life you do not lie to, ever. Your lawyer, and your doctor. I told her things I haven’t told my wife, and in the end, she ran her finger down the computer screen, counting. “Hmmmm, I see at least fifteen things here that need immediate or near-immediate attention…”
Great, I said to her, why couldn’t I have just gotten the nice quick heart attack I had been hoping for? Why do I have to deconstruct like a zombie?
She looked at me funny.
I did not get the felonious finger, which was bittersweet. On the one hand, you’ve got a woman’s finger up your butt, and on the other hand, well, you’ve got a woman’s finger up your butt…
As a matter of fact, the whole affair was pretty limpid. I was the last patient (now I know why they call them that!) of the day, in a government facility, and baby, it was close to closing time. People’s gots places to go! I’ve had more enthusiastic pat-downs from TSA workers at the airport.
She poked and patted and prodded me, here and there, but I never once disrobed. I wanted to get naked, but I didn’t get to so much as remove my shoes. Oh well, you get what you pay for, I suppose, and I pay exactly nothing.
And do records checks on yourself, often. It’s your right, no matter what they try to tell you, and you’ll thank me one day, when that chipped tooth you went in for during training gets you free dental care for the rest of your life because it is listed in your PRF as a service related injury. And that’s the key phrase, ‘Service Related’. If it ain’t Service Related, it didn’t happen. Make sure that corpsman or whoever gets that paperwork in your med file, and transport all of your records to your next duty station yourself, if you can.
Man, I don’t know which I hate worse, poor people, or old people. Probably depends on which one I’m looking at. Some Mexican broad there in one of the waiting rooms had let her little bitty toddler completely piss himself, and then, of course, like they all do, run around unsupervised to show everyone how cute he was. And I mean he was soaked, literally, from the chest down, as if he had been dipped in a pool. Urine was squirting out through his parka when he moved, and sheeting down and dripping on the floor.
And of course, I, being the Alpha Dad, and magnet for every little snot-nosed pants-load that comes along, get to scamper around and dodge him like a little bitch, because he wanted to latch onto his big new daddy’s leg and give it a hug, and I would have punted the little fucker into the ornamental shrubbery, except I didn’t want to get my boot wet. It was disgusting. I had to keep matadoring his little ass until my business there was done and I could escape.
Plus, it is probably not wise to piss off a Mexican in a place that is nearly all staffed by Mexicans, when your very life may depend on one of them to not be pissed off at you and fuck your gringo ass over even more than usual.
I tell you, I needed that beer I drank on the drive home.

19 Responses to So, Where Was I?

  1. So is this permanent? Do I chnge the link yet?

  2. Kim says:

    Wow. What particular symptoms/vapors have you been having? I don’t envy you the gauntlet.

  3. Bane says:

    I wouldn’t go changing anything just yet. I am mad enough to quit fucking blogging, today, and I hate this tiny-ass font and can’t find out how to change it.

  4. Nate says:

    Yeah… but what about the new Raiders coach?

  5. LL says:

    Damn, Bane!! If you gotta get the colonoscopy, make sure that when they give you the amnesia drug it actually goes into your vein and not just into the tissue of your inner elbow. I’m maybe talkin’ from experience here, so trust me on this.
    LL | Email | Homepage | 02.17.06 – 3:18 pm | #

  6. ajw308 says:

    I know a guy who served on a carrier in the Pacific. If he wasn’t running the 50’s in a turret on a Hellcat (Helldiver?) he was manning Ack.

    One day he was waiting to take off and the carrier got attacked. He was ordered to evacuate the plane and man a gun. Getting out of the plane, amongst the attack, he fell and broke his back.

    In the 70’s some teenage vandals lit the warehouse his records were stored in and they burned up with thousands of other vets records.

    Without records, the VA won’t cover his medical conditions stemming from combat. Those bastards are just pissing on him at this point, as far as I’m concerned.

    Of course the teenage arsonists were caught and apologized to all the vets they’ve denied care for…

    The moral of the story is don’t trust the gov’t to keep records. Keep your own copy in a safe place.
    ajw308 | Email | Homepage | 02.17.06 – 3:59 pm | #


    One time visiting this old guys house, our conversation turned to planes.

    His wife whispered something at this point. I don’t recall exactly what, but she knew how big this can of worms was.

    Next thing I knew Wally was crying and telling me about standing next to guys getting hit by 20mm cannon fire from Jap planes and otherthings that I couldn’t really make out. Seems the Ack guns on the carriers had ‘spare’ men about since they gave as good as they got and the soldiers gunning and loading didn’t last to long.

    His wife let me know that when this history came to the surface, it would be days before the fits would be gone from his sleep. He’d thrash around so much they couldn’t sleep in the same bed.

    I never made that mistake again. Not with him, not with other vets I know, but not that well.
    ajw308 | Email | Homepage | 02.17.06 – 4:06 pm | #

  7. Bane says:

    I just brought some of the ‘ghost comments’ over here.

  8. Wow!! I wondered what happened!!!

    You ARE having a bad day….

  9. Not to complain…I notice that the comments are time stamped but the posts are not…

  10. Kim says:

    Isn’t today the 17th? Friday?

  11. Bane says:

    Oh, great, make fun of the dead guy.

  12. Kim says:

    I see a dormouse over there. And a table with some pills. A couple of rabbit pellets.

  13. Bane says:

    Well…let’s not start gambling over my cloak just yet.

  14. Kim says:

    Seriously, what all are you having looked at? We’ve been through some major shit during the last 4 years. Could maybe provide advice.

  15. Bane says:

    Nunya. I can get a hardon, and that’s all I care about.

  16. Kim says:

    I’m not talking about that shit. Other stuff can be a whole lot more trying, as it were.

  17. Kim says:

    Here’s a choice. Hardon or living for 20 more years.
    I’d be glad to discuss the issue, but not on a Friday night.

  18. Dave says:

    I’m old, so fuck you too, Bane. And another thing, I can hardly read this font. Is this a conspericy or something? And another thing, my service records were some of those burned up in that fire. Get the colonoscopy, the drugs they give you are great!

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