Adventures With Dear Miss Mermaid Child Of The Planet

Sunset from Lake Hartwell the year I escaped from the hospital to go recuperate with my shattered wrist. Um, I think that was 2014 or 2015?

I had a friend with me helping out, thank goodness, I couldn't drive and was in screaming pain. I was so frustrated with the nightmare of having a surgery followup appointment at 11 but told to show up at 1030 for paperwork and arriving at 10 to be nice then being forced to wait until past 2pm to get any attention. Paperwork? More paperwork?

I was wildly hungry as the clock ticked onwards. That made me even grumpier.

There was no desk to sit down to fill out this mountain of paperwork and I couldn't do it on my lap with the other arm in a hot sweaty black brace up in the air to keep the swelling down. I was trying to stand up at the reception desk and fill it out but they kept telling me to go sit down. I asked for a desk and they looked at me like I had asked for a trip to the moon.

The waiting room stunk something awful, that very old very moldy dirty laundry smell that was nauseating.  A blaring TV was nerve wracking and the chairs were most uncomfortable. Why aren't there beds in a waiting room? We could all just snooze until they got around to seeing us.

The surgeon that eventually saw me 4 hours later knew nothing about my past surgery because he didn't perform it, and he couldn't seem to answer any of my questions about future physical therapy. He couldn't access my records on the computer. It was just a huge waste of time all around. He looked like he wasn't old enough to finish high school. No credentials on the wall to show he had passed anything anywhere, just his word he was a surgeon. He could have been the janitor for all I knew.

I am old fashioned. I like to see the doctor's credentials hung on the wall.

A lady with a volunteer tag did all my vitals. They were billing my insurance company ridiculous amounts and a volunteer was doing most of the work? She spent more time with me than the surgeon did.

Incredulously five hours later because they still couldn't access my computer records they told me to come back for another appointment in two days to start all over again. Appointment for 9, but come at 830 for paperwork and maybe the doc see me by 3pm. By then I had lost all faith in the medical treatment I wasn't getting. Hard to have faith when nobody seems to know a thing.

Anyhow, when we left that nightmare I was frustrated and wildly cranky. On a scale of one to ten, my pain was at a twelve. They gave us directions to a drug store and when we got there, they didn't accept my insurance card, later I found out if we had gone to the grocery store, the pain meds would have been covered by the insurance. Life is complicated! We were from out of town in an RV, my crystal ball just wasn't forthcoming with such critical information.

We had a cramped spot in an RV park that was bordered on one side by a trucking lot, another side by a major highway, a third side had an airport and the 4th  had a train track. It was maybe 10-15 minutes from the hospital and surgeon's office.

With one determined finger in a haze of extreme pain, I managed to punch out on the internet and discover that 60 miles away Lake Hartwell State Park had large water front campsites open for rent, out in nature, I begged my friend to drive us there. He pointed out that if we went, I would be 60 miles from the doctor when my appointment rolled around again. I said, well I am never going back. I've had enough abuse, thank you very much.

I need to heal with nature. Meditate and pray.

I took this picture from my bedroom window in the RV just before drifting off into la-la land.

Funny how one picture brings out a long winded story.

Eventually I found wrist and finger exercises on the internet because I never was able to get the proper paperwork from the surgeon's office to get real therapy. They acted like I was asking them to climb Mount Everest and check for flowers.

Life is goof.