This week, I was told that I would  get several of the accommodations I had asked for at work.  Prior to this week, I’d been told that the review of some of my requests had been postponed indefinitely, and some of my requests had been just flat out denied without review.  With my body having learned the new trick of very delayed gastric emptying, it made for an exceptionally stressful 3 1/2 months.  The levels of despair I had at having a job that I had loved start to crumble around me while trying to take care of my decaying body, they were significant.  Last week, I saw someone at my husband’s employee assistance program for a referral to mental health.  Husband works at a BATH, I figured his EAP was more likely to have a good referral list than my employer.  Also, the degree of separation made me feel better about disclosing about work stuff.  And lastly, given what I’ve seen of my employer’s HR practices in my first year there, and especially these last few months, I didn’t have any sense that the EAP they had chosen would be better than a high school guidance counselor.  trip hazard caution sign

I’m glad I went.  I think what made me feel best about it was that I asked “what if the first person I see isn’t a good fit?”  I was told they wanted to hear feedback on that and if it wasn’t a good fit, they’d try to find someone else.  The day I went, I’d had a big, I guess what they call “come to jesus” talk with my boss.  The general theme, without getting into details I”d prefer not to on my blog, was that “this is not ok”.  I needed that counseling appointment after, believe me.  “What was the worst that could happen?” my husband asked me that morning on the way in to work.  “Well, it could end in tears and cops.”  Elaborating with the counselor:  I could run from the meeting crying and lock myself in my office and they’d have to call security to come take me out,”  “that’s not so bad….” says the counselor.  I laughed.  I don’t want to cry in front of them.  “why?”  Yeah, that’s a tough one.  Why does anyone not want to cry at work?  Or in front of people in general?  I don’t think that’s weird but it is tough to but words to why I don’t want to.

Little brother made someone cry at work this week.  He was at a doctor’s appointment and his supervisory staff decided to take a long lunch, he told me.  When he got back, there was bedlam – he was set upon by several employees at once with demands for this and that right now and outrage that “no one was here!”  The person who he made cry is sort of thin skinned I think.  I’ve met her, so I’m not basing this just on him.  That said, I think my brother would be really tough to work for.  I think he and my boss are similar in some regards, not the least of which is they both seem to think it’s ok to blow up at work.  I don’t.  I think you need to express when you’re angry or upset but you owe it to yourself and your coworkers to find a more productive way to handle that than what comes across as rage, either seething or explosive.  But as my brother put it:  “I offered for her to go home, I know she was upset.  Instead, she runs into the break room where everyone is…I mean come on.  At least go into the bathroom or something.  So now she’s done that, and everyone is like ‘oh god what did you do to her?’ and I’m like ‘you know what?  you only get to do that once and have that effect.  you can’t unring that bell.  you cry again any time in the next 5 years and everyone’s going to start thinking maybe you’re unstable.”

That about sums it up.  So even with good cause, that’s a pretty good summary of why not to cry at work, at least not visibly (or audibly, as I’ve been witness to sometimes…closed door but screaming and swearing and crying, oh boy).  Go out, take a walk, sit on a bench, clear your head.  Get therapy.  Talk to your peeps.  Post a blog.  but try to keep the waterworks out of the office if you can.  Unless someone died.

I’d like to say I am optimistic about work now, but I am not.  I want to be.  Maybe it’s because the same day I was told they’d try out some accommodations, some massive screwup happened that I am attached to (I didn’t cause it but I was a part of it).  I know that took the wind out of my sails a bit.  But I think the reason runs deeper.  My trust is broken there.  3 and 1/2 months of this, it takes a chunk out of you.  It leaves a mark.  So I proceed, with caution and with good faith and a desire for this to work, if not actual hope.


dyspatient has left the building

Done.  Done with the old job.  I wanted to leave in a blaze of triumphal glory.  Unfortunately, I left as I so often do.  Happy to be going, but limping along in pain to my car.  This time it was the abdomen.  I don’t whether to attribute it to the unwanted and ultimately poorly executed lunch date with my now ex-boss or the over-reaching over my desk to drop something in the recycling bin (employee saw me doing this and said “woah, hey, let me…no really, you’re going to hurt yourself” and yes, he may have been right).  It wasn’t a usual stomach/GI pain for me, so it may well have been the over reaching.  This is a problem for me.  I really really need to learn to stop doing it because with increasing frequency, I am hurting myself by bending this way and stretching that.  My mantra is “just because your body WILL go that way doesn’t mean it SHOULD”.  I had some inkling about this even when I was younger and healthier.  I once passed out at the start of a final exam as an undergrad after the test packet slid off my desk and under the seat in front of me.  It was one of those stadium seating style classrooms.  I leaned wayyyyyy down and forward and extended my Gumby arm under the seat in front of me, almost reaching it….oh just a little more and then….just as my hand closed on it, something went “ping” in my shoulder.  Oh dear.  I sat upright.  Oh no, oh, that wasn’t good.  I put my head down on the desk.  I tucked my legs up under me in the seat.  Finally, knowing that I was indeed going to pass out now, I made my way down the stairs (yeah I’m a fucking idiot), hugging the wall, to the front of the room, told the professor and her TA that I was sick and going in to the hall to pass out, which I then did but only after laying on the hall floor retching for a few minutes.  My passing out is never those delicate little lady faints.  Oh no.  It’s all sweaty and retchy and gassy (it’s like my intestines just say “EVACUATE!”).  Profanity laden prayers are not uncommon.  Even after I’m out,  I don’t have the decency to lay there like a good swooner, arm draped dramatically just waiting for a brocade couch to complete the scene.  No, I go stiff (“I nearly had to break your damned legs to get you off the toilet” my ex husband told me after finding me passed out in our little closet sized bathroom), my eyes roll up (“and you’ve got BIG EYES” a friend who witnessed this once told me), and I sometimes convulse a little.

While rationally, I know over reaching is a bad idea, I have not yet LEARNED it.  And so yesterday, I slunk out of work and to my super hot car, parked in the couple of inches of shade and waited for the AC to kick in before driving myself home to collapse on the couch.  Sort of an anti-climactic end to a rotten chapter of my life.

But it is done.  I am home for the heatwave, contemplating a mall trip, expecting lots of couch time and forced hydration – I really just cannot muster the thirst to drink my requisite volume of fluids – and looking forward to a massage on Monday, a visit with a friend, and a mani/pedi day (never had a pedicure before…getting my feet ready for open toe shoes to help with what I call “lobster foot”, more on that later).

For all of my chronic friends in the heatwave zone of the US (I believe right now that’s most of the 48 contiguous states), stay cool. Remember that you really don’t have to prove anything, and moreover, anything you think you might be proving by dashing around in a heatwave is likely to be undone by the passing out/feeling like pounded poop that will ensue after.


I’ve never done well with leaps of faith.  There was a time when I would have described myself as a pessimist because of this.  I now know that I am not.  In fact, compared to a lot of people I interact with, I think I’m amazingly optimistic.  E.g. I tend to expect that  – all things being equal – most people will do good, will avoid being selfish and if they must be will act to reduce the negative impact on others, won’t go out of their way to hurt someone, will feel bad if they inadvertently do and will try to remedy it…all sorts of silly, Pollyanna-like beliefs such as these tumble around in my head.  And so, I must conclude, I am clearly not a pessimist.  It seems a little paradoxical to say then that I have a serious lack of faith.  I think there is a common thread though to both.  Most of my beliefs about people tend to involve a notion that we all (most) have our troubles and we all (most) know what it feels like to struggle, even if our struggles look silly and privileged to others who are outside our culture, class, or individual position.  And my lack of faith is colored by the same knowledge.  There are struggles, there are troubles, we don’t all understand one another immediately, well, or sometimes ever and so we can bump up against one another even if we are “good” and do damage when we hit a weakness.

I say all that and it sounds just so fluffy and “up with people” that I feel I must interject here to say that I think some people are outright assholes.  I allow for a continuum here though – some of them just are overly-expressing the universal inner asshole at that time and in other circumstances might be just fine folks (I believe I fall into that category); some wallow in that and become, for me, irredemable dregs until and unless something seriously life changing knocks them out of it and even then, I’m not sure long term assholery is something you get over all at once; some are just wrong and well, what I would characterize as evil.  I do believe the last set are rare.  I also believe the former two types can do serious damage to other people though, as much damage as if they were “evil”.

Taken together, this means that although I do tend to expect the best of people, I also know that life has a lot of sucking in it and some of it is intentional or at least done by one to another.  Thus, when I have to throw my fates to the wind, I get quite nervous.

Ok, now that we have that taken care of…

Back to faith.  I notice my lack of it at times like this.  I am moving, finding a place to move to more precisely.  At some point, we have to stop looking and just go with something.  How do you get past the “buyer’s regret” and the “whatifs” when everything you are seeing is going to be a compromise and just go?  You make a leap of faith.  I’m looking for jobs, not because I insanely believe that I have the energy or ambition to do so but because my current job is hell and I hope/pray that something else would be at least hell in ways that I can better deal with.  But how do I convince myself to look past the knowledge that I might leave this job, then find my health is just not good enough to take the stress of a new one (let alone concerns that the devil I don’t know may actually be as bad or worse)?  More faith.

And then there’s the health.  The area where I have perhaps as little faith as I can and where my most pessimistic thoughts about my fellow humans do manifest.  I don’t have to believe the doctor I am seeing or the nurse placing an IV in my arm is superhuman, in fact I cannot.  I have lived with and worked with them.  There are special ones and there are not so special ones, just like in every other walk of life.  I do have to believe though that the doctors and nurses know this.  I find that they often operate as if they do not.  I wonder if it is some delusion that people are more susceptible to when they work in health care.  I  could see that.  They encounter so many people at their worst, or to put it in my terms, they see a lot of “asshole expression”.  And they are in an in-between field, like education, where market, government, and the very personal needs of many grind up against one another in ways that threaten to pulverize the people and affairs caught in the middle.  And in that context, they work knowing that a bad day at work might involve choices can cost someone a lot: life, health, fulfillment of hopes, dignity, independence…  The worst healthcare provider experiences I have had have involved, almost all of them, providers who believe that they are super special and/or who find my lack of faith personally insulting.  I wish I could explain it all to them.  I wish I could tell them about knowing that they suffer too, that life often just sucks, and that mine has had a lot of sucking in it and so I do not have faith that usually things will be fine.  I think the sum of human existence actually would argue that usually they won’t, and what makes us amazing is doing well (and good) despite that.  And yet here is this set of people who SHOULD be the most aware of suffering, the most aware of human (their own included) frailty and short comings, and therefore have had all of this opportunity to become truly empathetic and self aware and instead, waaaaaay to many of them just chose the path of wallowing in assholery.  This pisses me off exactly because I believe that it is a choice.  It’s not made daily, but I’ll tell you this: it’s made every time one of them deals with an articulate person with a medical mystery.  So far, I’ve found very few of them who rise to the challenge.  I believe being patient in this context and continuing to practice empathy etc. would require not just the emotional constitution of a saint but a deep desire to be martyred as well because in this situation, your health and wellbeing is on the line.  It’s hard to be nice and patient when that’s the case, and I find it increasingly difficult to muster up anything even remotely approaching the faith that seems so apparently necessary in patient/provider encounters.

Eh.  Well, that went off on a tangent.  It’s a long ass way of saying I’m in a period of intense, nearly overwhelming ambivalence and I can’t even allow myself the luxury of stupid, blind faith.  Hope gets me down, so there’s no refuge there.  Love is a help, and I am thankful for it.  As is self reliance and precedent (I have gotten through some really bad shit before).  But I can be a bit mean to myself, and chronic mystery health problems tend to rob you of some of your self reliance, which makes these less sturdy blocks to rest on.

I believe at times like this, I just have to do what is sometimes called baby-steps but which I prefer to consider not in the plural because even “baby” steps are steps, plural, and I can really only just look at one step at a time right now until I get to the big one where I jump…move, see a new doctor, see an old doctor with a new request, etc.

What gets you through?  Faith?  Hope?


A reminder not to take things too seriously.  In the words of the Indigo Girls, it’s only life, after all.

I need it this week.  Didn’t get the job I applied for, which is too bad.  I think it would have been a nice fit.  I don’t mourn the position, but I miss the little bit of hopeful feeling it gave me to have applied to it – like a $20 bill in your wallet or the muted pleasure of getting up on a Friday morning to go to work.  I had this sliver of hope until Thursday morning when I got notice that I was out of the running for the job.

Most of what’s been eating at me this week is work and housing related.

  • I’m still being fucked about on the accommodations request.  I received a call late yesterday afternoon from HR to follow up on a complaint I made about a harassing coworker (we met, god, months ago and they are finally now writing up the letter, and they wanted to check in and see how things have been going with that coworker).  At teh end of the call, HR adds a note on the latest “progress” on my health accommodation request:  We’re “slogging through” the extra information we asked you to get from your doctor, it’s still “vague on the date of onset” (of illness(es)) “and the anticipated duration, but we’re working through it”.  Holy shit, really?  I submitted that request in early January.  To me, this latest update says we’re looking for excuses to deny your accommodations and are hoping that we can make a case that your health problems don’t qualify as disabilities.  What a thing to hear.
  • I still work with morons.  It’s been hot this week, legitimately hot.  Over 80 several days.  On Thursday, I went to take my lunch break (which HR says if I take at my desk or in my office, where I have some control over the room temp, I can expect to be interrupted and no accommodation will be made to back me up on that) in the break room.  Earlier in the day, the A.C. had been on.  When I went up, it was like walking into someone’s mouth.  Warm, damp, and slightly smelly.  Clearly, one of the cold blooded bastards I work with had been too cold, but they didn’t even open a window for fresh (if warm) air.  Without thinking, I exclaimed “Oh my goodness, it’s toast y in here,” after walking in.  A woman who has harassed me at work over health stuff said “Yes, and I know how much you love  the heat so I won’t open the window for you.”  Nice.  Really really nice.    Yes, I documented it.  No, I’m not going to make ANOTHER official HR complaint against her because the last one was handled so ham handedly that it caused more problems than it solved.  I am going to mention it at the meeting HR set up for next week and I very much consider it to be contributing to a hostile workplace, so if I do need to make a complaint to the EEOC, you can bet this will be in there.  I left, left the building, as was recommended by HR in their response to my request to be allowed to take a break in my building, drove to a place to get food, checked my blood sugar in the parking lot because I was feeling ill, and yup, it was on its way down – 82 and dropping I’m sure.
  • We still need to move and don’t want to.  There’s nothing good listed – we love living in a single family house, can’t afford to buy yet, and desperately do not want to live in a multi-family again.
  • How about health and medical stuff?  Well, that was more last week but I suppose the influence of it isn’t gone.  No lab evidence of mast cell disorder, according to Endocrine.  I’m discharged from their service (and good riddance!).  The abdominal pain was nothing discernible – which I found out (two days) after spending 5 hours on Monday night at my primary care’s office and the hospital across the street.  Home at 11:00 PM after being up at 5:00 AM, what a way to start the week.

On the plus side, my primary care is still as great as ever and was not dismissive.  My most recent round of lots of medical appointments is over (the clustering is because I try to schedule appointments during slow times at work and we just had break last week), ending with seeing the genetics folks at the B.A.T.H..  The doctor was informative and kind. He’s testing to rule out EDS type 4, and although he thinks I may have it, there is no good test for EDS type 3 (hypermobility type – reading the diagnostic criteria of it is like a checklist of shit that is wrong with me). He did have some good recommendations though. And he was sincere. And kind. I think I mentioned that but it bears mentioning again.

So here I am.  Lots of crap things, one small bright spot.  My natural inclination at times like this is to vow not to get my hopes up again because the let down is so bad.  But the bad is bad enough, or enough picture of a trivia game card with names of medical specialities as categories.bad (depending on how you look at it) that I need something.  If I were going to use anything as a sort of getting me through life-saver, I find the idea of a potential job or a nice new home slightly more appealing than “hey that doctor was nice”.  Also, there is the inherent drawback of investing any hope into the possibility of a unifying diagnosis in that each step of the way comes with more appointments, more missed work, more chances of getting a not great doctor or doctor’s staff, or a scary test… I was joking with my husband that, regarding the medical stuff, I feel like I’m at that point in Trivial
Pursuit where you have all the pieces but you still have to role the exactly right number to land in the center and you still have to get the right question.

I think instead I’m going to try for the absurdist path.  Rather than getting caught in the hopeful/unhopeful mindset dichotomy, I am aiming for a more immediate one that I suppose I could call a temporally relativist take on positive existentialistm.  And toward that end, I am going to try to laugh at the laugh at-able and consider that when things are tough, I am at least young (ish) and have love, and a cat, and a comfy bed, and clothes on my back, and I’m continent, and, well you get the idea.

Here’s a fun thing I ran across this week.  Looking for more of this sort of thing as a reminder that there can be fun in the chaos, diamonds in the coal, flowers in the dirt.

what are you waiting for?

Waiting is a common enough theme in this blog that I probably should make a category or at least a tag for it.  Here are some of the things I’ve been waiting for lately.

  • Waiting for Human Resources to process (i.e. find ways/reasons to deny) my health accommodation requests.
  • Waiting for an appointment with my primary care (this Wednesday) to go over the most recent documentation request from HR – I made an appointment  this time because of all the fruitless waiting I did last Fall with the initial set of accommodation physician documentation forms.
  • Waiting for results from my rather difficult to time 24 urine and “while you’re symptomatic” blood draw for histamine by products.  I have an  appointment this Friday, which I am trying to change to earlier so I don’t miss quite so much work, and so add to this list…
  • …waiting for the Endocrine clinic at B.A.T.H. to call me back.
  • Waiting for an EMG (also this Wednesday) on my totally screwed up right hand/wrist, which I totally screwed up by overuse at work and by waiting to too long to get it checked out.  It’s now not just an acute injury.  It’s a new trick for my body to do.
  • Waiting for an appointment with some genetics doc (next Wednesday) …this came out of the January appointment when I popped my hip out of joint getting out of the car, ended up being tacked on to the schedule of a Rheumatologist my primary care shares his office space with sometimes, and referred for checking out of the whole super bendiness/spontaneous dislocating/subluxing (subluxating?) stuff.  The appointment is to evaluate me (genetically) for Ehlers-Danlos syndrome.  I haven’t decided about whether to mention testing for a RET gene mutation – maybe I will ask my primary care about this on Wednesday.

What made me think of waiting was a post on Professor Lisa Gualtieri’s blog, which seems a decent blog.  I found it through an old article in the Boston Globe which was a recruitment call for patient bloggers for a survey research study (now closed, but a slide show of findings is here).  In her post Must waiting be inherent to medical care?, she gives what I guess can be called a taxonomy of waiting which patients experience.  Yup, seems right.  My least favorite part is the final step, “loop”.  That one kills me.

My strategies for waiting to be seen once I’m there include the following:

  • My primary care’s office is always backed up.  However, they are very good about letting you know how far behind they are if you call ahead.  I find this to be a good solution, and I respect that they are behind because my primary care has a lot of complicated patients and because he doesn’t rush through appointments with us.
  • I bring something to read, something to work on, something to play with, or someone to talk to.  I have played countless games of solitaire; written numerous pages of journal entries, letters, or poems; drawn on my iPad; listened to downloaded podcasts or episodes of shows like This American Life (interesting and informative).  It helps.  I feel bad for people who do not have access to mobile devices or engaging diversionary materials (e.g. books instead of insipid waiting room magazines), which help pass the time.  I have often wondered about starting some kind of book/tech drive at waiting rooms – E.R.s, O.R.s, and ICUs specifically.   One day, when I am not working, I  think this will be a project of mine.
  • I manage my expectations.  I do not expect to be in and out fast.  I think that this is easier, or at least comes more readily, for those of us with chronic illnesses.  We sort of learn to discard the stresses that we can, because there are so damned many of them.  If we let a one hour wait in the doctor’s office drive us over the edge, we’d have no resource left over for all the other things that are stressful in our lives.  This isn’t to say that it doesn’t get to us.  It does, but I think that if one were to calculate a “per visit freakout” ratio, one may find that the people in the many years chronically ill group inclined towards the lower side.  Dunno for sure, just a hypothesis.

So, what are YOU waiting for? How do you deal with waiting in medical contexts?  Have you found that your chronic illness has made you better or worse at being a patient patient?


I have done very little on my winter vacation.  I have watched movies, cooked and baked, entertained a few guests, had a manicure and a massage, and mostly…

photo of a woman on a couch with a tabby cat


Merry christmas to me

I have this week off.  Last week, I had a “work at home” week since the facilities folks decided to paint the interior of our building without any notice to the four staff member still working there last week.  Day one was headaches, sore throats, and stinging eyes from the fumes.  Boss came back from a meeting to a building full of fumes and all the staff but me gone and said “Please, feel free to work at home until this is done” and so I did.  Very nice.  This week, I am home and sans responsibilities, work-wise at least.  At some point, I will clean for company who are coming tomorrow afternoon.  But since most of them won’t be staying here and since I just did a “big clean” on Saturday, I’m not going to stress over this too much.

So today I have booked a manicure and a massage.  Ahhhh…..just what I need.  If I can stand braving the after christmas mall, I may also stop in for a threading session.

Man, it’s nice to have time off.  I can finally get to some of the personal maintenance things I usually have to back burner (repeatedly) during the work week.

Prufrock goes to the doctor

One of my favorite poems is The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot.

I have no aspirations to developing an interpretation that accords with what analysts of the literary sort have assigned.  I read it and it spoke very much to me about the sorts of day to day struggles I have with context where what I wish to communicate and how I wish to be perceived both seem to differ vastly from what is available to me.  “I should have been a pair of ragged claws, Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.” describes so well how I often feel when these moments fail me.

No context is more loaded with this disconnect than my various experiences with doctor/patient communication.  The history giving, the narrative that starts with the spoken or unspoken question of “So what brings you here today?”  I know that what I need to communicate is valid, is of great import (to me), and that how I answer (and how well I answer) will have a significant impact on whether I get what I need.  But I am not what is expected of a suitable patient.  I complain of feeling terrible and yet I don’t look terrible to these people.  Could I show them a picture of how I used to be, of how I should be now so they could see a “before and after” effect of this long grinding illness on me?  And beyond my physical impression, there is also the fact that I necessarily deviate from the script.  I haven’t the heart to catalog all the ways in which I do.  I suspect there are many I am unaware of and listing the ones I do know only makes me feel irritatingly self pitying.  I will say that like Prufrock, I also measure out my life in coffee spoons – I am a careful and deliberate person who fears to put too much down, to give too much away and that sort of person is often seen as fussy and dismissable.  And that sort of person often gets in his or her own way when he or she tries to engage exactly because she or he is trying so hard to both analyze and act at the same time.

When I read that Prufrock fears that his attempt to foray into a sphere of discourse from which he is necessarily barred or at least a priori judged as inadequate will not just be difficult and frustrating but will “disturb the universe, I feel a deep resonance with poor old Prufrock.  Indeed, “how should I begin?” and  “how should I presume?”


And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

Some days

It’s beautiful out.  I haven’t been outside yet but the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the weather service says the high is about 49 – a perfect temp for my overheating, migraine with vertigo, hand, foot, face and ear flushing body.

So why the hell am I in such a rotten mood?

I think it’s because of yesterday.  I think it’s because I took time off of work twice now this past month to get this persisting pain checked out and it’s not resolved.  And it’s not the lack of resolution alone that is, I think, putting me in such a foul mood.  It’s the anticipation of the doctor’s response.  It’s waiting for that phone call or worse waiting for them not to call and for me to get irritated enough to call them when I’ll be told that because the test they ordered didn’t show anything, I’m fine.

Breaking this down, it’s not fine when told I’m fine and it’s missing parts of my life to deal with a thing that makes me miss parts of my life and feeling like the doctors fail to respect that in many little and big ways.  

So that’s probably why I’m in a shitty mood.  Add to it that my dentist’s office has been pissing me off with a couple of poorly conceived office and billing practices (the latter I tried to deal with for the second time today only to be given a serious run around) and I’m in a boil over mood at the moment, despite having four days off for totally non-medical reasons (took a vacation day today and Monday’s a holiday) and despite the fact that the sun is shining and the birds are singing and it’s the just right temperature for my day not to suck.

I need to shake this mood.  I think a trip to the beach might be in order.

Scanner, here I come

One of the ways I feel better about the – shall we say “extracurricular” crap I take at work is to sometimes put office equipment to less than official use.  My justification is this:  Work crap makes me sick.  I need to then copy more medical records for the appointments I need to go to because their crap makes me sick(er).  Ergo, copying medical records is work related.

Yeah, pretty flimsy I know.  But, it has improved my knowledge of our office machinery.  E.g. I now have a higher level of expertise at scanning to file as email attachment than anyone else in my office.

So since we’ll have some down time soon and since this and last week I was put through the wringer at work, I’m may  to avail myself of the opportunity to get to know the scanner’s duplex input modes a little better.  Mwahahahahahahaha!