Your Tax Dollars At Work

I arrived at the surgery clinic at Our Lady of the Damned at 9:30 this morning for my 10:00 appointment. It was 4:00 when I finally saw a doctor. I spent most of that six hour wait standing because the clinic was so packed that those of us who had two legs stood so those with one or none could have the chairs. I couldn't read, or knit, or do anything except stare into space for six long dead hours. I couldn't even leave to get lunch because if they called my name and I wasn't there I'd lose my appointment.

At 4:00 I finally saw a doctor, the rudest MD I've ever encountered which believe me is saying a lot. And it turned out I'd been sent to the wrong damn surgery clinic: port removals are at the minor surgery clinic, not the family practice surgery clinic where my appointment was. So now I'm back to square one. Again. The minor surgery clinic is booked through the end of August, so it won't be any time soon. Maybe I'll have my port taken out in September or October. Or maybe they'll just keep giving me this assinine run around until I go insane with frustration and impotent rage. Which is pointless because the psychiatric beds are all booked solid through 2027.

Excuse me, I'm long overdue for collapsing on the bed and crying myself to sleep.