May 6, 2003
Warning: Big, whiny, baby comments ahead:

Went to see a new doctor at one yesterday. Very encouraging. New diet, new prognosis, etc. More later.

Had a crappy trip in for my evening shot last night. Forgot my glasses, drove by braille, with one hand out the window so I could feel the lanes better (not really). Got to hospital, nurses told me to go wait in lounge, and of course, they forgot me. After twenty five minutes I took my daytimer and walked out to the nurse’s station and slammed it on the desk. The attending nurse says, “Can I help you?” And I said, “Yes, I was supposed to get a shot a half hour ago.” She makes some lame excuse about a shift change (I’ve been doing this at the same time for a week and a half), so she calls up the nurse and after another five minutes, the shot giver comes sauntering in and it’s the one who likes to throw the syringe. Plus, she’s always covertly hostile. Talks real sweet but says things like, “You can have the shot anywhere you like but it won’t assimilate as quickly.”

On the way back home I tried to get gas, but credit card wouldn’t process at the pump. After three minutes of “processing,” the display said “See cashier inside.” When I went inside, the cashier ran my debit card through and it came back “encripted card error” or some such nonsense, and so I gave him another card, same thing. So fifteen minutes later, I give the guy $3 bucks and call it a night. Drove home really grumpy and blind, cutting off drivers and causing several deaths (well, in my head anyway). Got home and slammed around the house like a big baby.

I was actually enjoying feeling sorry for myself, but I can’t ever seem to get up a full head of steam because I always come back to the people at the Infusion Clinic who are on chemo. You know, the ones with the real problems. So then I just get mad at myself for being such a big, whiny baby.

“Why are we honoring this man? Have we run out of human beings? “
—Milton Berle (at a function for Sports Broadcaster Howard Cosell)