TAKE A NUMBER

This morning I had my follow-up appointment with an Orthopedic specialist. I'm not even sure why I went, and the doctor basically confirmed what I already knew, i.e., my clavicle is fractured. And here's the process I endured to get that bit of non-news:

I awoke at 5:30AM, for my 7:30AM "appointment". I walked 20 minutes across the park, waited 10 minutes for the bus to arrive, humped that bitch for 45 solid minutes down to the county hospital. Although I arrived 35 minutes early, I had to take a number, specially #38. Imagine, if you will, an entire room full of people (at least 60-70) all on crutches or rocking an arm sling (careful observation led me to conclude I'm the only one with a black arm sling - guess I'm that fashion forward!). Another hour passed before they called my number.

When they did, I rushed (as much as I could - while trying to balance my back pack on one arm) to the desk and handed over my ER discharge papers. The thoroughly dis-interested clerk typed shit for 5 minutes, frowned repeatedly at the computer screened, handed me back an even larger stack of papers and told me to go downstairs to another office...

...where I had to stand in line AGAIN. Only to (wait for it) be handed ANOTHER FUCKING NUMBER. 30 minutes later I got face time with ANOTHER dis-interested clerk who...hand me more papers and told me to go back to the same room upstairs from whence I just came. And you know what? Another line! Just to give my papers back to the same person that took them an hour or so prior. And she helpfully told me to sit down and wait for my name to be called.

When it was (28 minutes later, I know this because I timed it on my phone) I was led to ANOTHER FUCKING WAITING ROOM. Thankfully this wait was short. And the doctor was a nice enough guy who I don't think meant to hurt my shoulder/arm more, although he did during the examination process. DICK. He got up and took a look at my CT scan...and confirmed that "yes, indeed, your clavicle is fractured". NO SHIT!

And get this, not only did he not tell me anything new...he scheduled another follow-up visit with a shoulder specialist, so he can give me something called a "Zanca View" scan. Awesome. And this particular sub-specialist is only in the hospital once a week. Not sure what that guy is gonna do for me.

At this point, it's 10AM and all I want to do is wash my hands, take a piss and smoke a cig, in exactly that order. Which I did. Then humped the bus (riding backwards!) 45 minutes north, across the park where I staggered back inside my apartment.

FUCK. I think I need a drink. Or a blow job. Or both!

PS - After venting, I feel a whole hell of a lot better.

PPS - Sorry for the bitch-fest.

PPS X2 - After consuming last week's copy of Roomie's EW magazine whilst waiting, I now know far too much Patrick Swayze.