I took the faster shower I have taken in my whole life. I am usually the gal who gets in the hottest shower she can stand and then only gets out when she has drained at least one of the Great Lakes. Not today. Nope. In and Out. Even I was amazed. Then I quickly shrugged into a comfy outfit and into sneakers with bare, calloused feet and off I went.

I made it to the office with not a second to spare. I was starting to wonder as the Sunday driver's all seemed to be enjoying their Good Friday while I was in my rush. Isn't that the way of the roads when ya really need to get somewhere?! Ugh.

They got me into one of those all white sterile rooms. I always have a feeling of foreboding in those rooms. If it isn't white, it's stainless steel. It's all sterile and the air is "hospitally". Just being there makes me feel "ill." More so than I might be at the time.

The nurse was very pleasant. But both she and the doc were a touch annoying. They have Dell computers in each little sterile room, (Black, the only sane color in the room. Man, did that look like a uck out of the water) and holy sheep shit bat fans, were they chicken peckers. I wanted to jump over and lend my typing skills. But no, I stayed on the table and cringed through the ordeal.

They both laughed at me when they saw my list of ailments. The doc even noticed that I always seem to save them up for one visit. I asked him what better way to spend a rainy day. LOL. Then I ran thru them. He seemed impressed.

First, I REALLY needed a renewal on my Imitrex. Lemme tell ya, they wouldn't give it to me until I was seen again. I don;t know why. All he said was all right. How about a years worth of refills. Now, I have suffered thru 2 migraines waiting on this flipping appointment. So I wasn't feeling to thrilled and made it clear. I asked why they couldn't have just said that over the damn phone. He said he needed to know how I was doing. I told him suffering from untreated migraines and pointed out he was giving me one, did he have any pills. he laughed. I didn't. Migraines, mine anyways, and most I assure you, are not cool, pleasant and they tax your sanity without the drugs. Procedures, shmedures. Gimme my damn drugs. I have a years worth now. Bru-ha-ha. Sanity in a bottle I tell ya. Thank God for Imitrex.

Then I told him I had a UTI (urinary tract infection). He looked all astonished. Now I am a 26 year old female who has had them since she was 5. Numerous ultra sounds, doc's appointments and surgeries because of my ailing bladder and kidney. Like I don;t know when it happens. He told me to humor him and handed me a cup. I handed it back and asked if he's humor me. Again, he laughed. I didn't. But pee I did. In the cup. Humor in a cup. Mmm, that's a new concept. And... I was right. More drugs to be had.

Then, the lump in my left forearm. Felt like a pulled tendon. I was wrong this time. It's a lymphnode. I don't know if it's s'posed to be there or what. But it is. It's sore and there's a damn lump. Wait, might be a blood clot. Don't those kill doc, they can, Sara. Panic. Nope. Didn't feel like a clot. Must be a lymphnode. Drugs for that too. But ahh wait, already needed anti-biotic for UTI. Same meds will help. YAY. Pain reliever needed? No, Doc. I ahve my advil. You sure? 'Nuff with the drugs, thanks Kindly. Ok, call if ya need. I'm no junkie, doc. Thanks. But no thanks. Ok, he says, suit y'self. I have and shall. Next?!

My other arm dock. In the pit. Had an abcess lump cut into and drained and all. Oooh, lemme look. Like a damn kid in a candy store with a pocket full of pennies. I was irritated. Pleasurein my pain. Damn doctors. He made a few unintelligible grunts, oohs and uh-oh's. His glasses fell to the tip of his nose and he sighed while shaking his head. By change did my surgeon explain more surgery might be needed. Yes, he did. But it's not... right? Right, Doc? Weeeeeeeeellllll..... I'll let him decide. DAMN! DAMN! DAMN! So they're gonna refer me back to Dr. Roche Featherstone. (Yes, his name is pronounced Roach- poor doc!) Maybe he's indian? I like the guy. Very good surgeon. Just not good enough. I have to go back. More hospitals. More scalples. More nasty nurses who won;t let me smoke. And yes, more drugs most likely. Won't my bosses love me soon enough, eh? Definately more missed work. Weeee.

Then the topic dreaded comes up. How's the depression, Sara? Any change. No, Doc, no change. He smells the fear and goes in for his kill. Maybe we should try a drug from the prozac family. I hear prozac and panic. No, not that. ANything but. Then he explains not Prozac itself. A form of. And now, this is it. From this day forward, I'm a diagnosed depressed woman. Every day for the rest of my life, I am a statistic. And ever day for the rest of my life, I will ahve to take what my friends call "Happy Pills". I have dreaded this moment. But knew I couldn;t hold out forever. I AM depressed. I know it. Shawn knows it. Hell, my whole fam damnly is a depressed mass. So this is it. D-Day.

Yes, D-Day. Dooms Day or Drug Day. Whichever you prefer. One I'm not likely to forget for some time, I assure you.

Not to mention between the doc's bills and the prescriptions, I paid out $70 I couldn't afford. Ugh. Like I needed that. But, I did manage to notice an open drawer and saw shiny metal... a pen! Being the pen clepto I am, (Yes, I ahve a pen fettish) I 5 finger discounted a pen, or 5 actually. May as well be exact. They're all cool. And they leave me feeling a bit giddy after spending all that monies there. Surely they won't miss them... right?

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After I left the good docs, I headed to McDonald's for a steak bagel meal an then zipped across the road to the pharmacy who took an hour and a half to fill my scripts. And, I think they do it on purpose. Some money hungry conspiracy. It's a cute little country shoppe with the pharmacy waaaaaaay in the back and lots of country, collectible and all types and styhles of goodies to fil the rest. I bought 2 packs of stationery, 2 boxes of chocolates that were half off, a b-day gift for my baby sister Neaner who turned 19 this month, a hat for my niece, a book called "Chocoholic's Reasonettes- little excuses to eat chocolate! by Sherrie Weaver (Not that I need an excuse or anything) for half off and a foot scrub brush. Shawn's gonna kill me!

When I got home, I called my sisters. The kids are on their spring break and I thought K.K. (my oldest lil' sis) could bring Neaner and the babies up for the week. But Neasner didn't wanna come up. So no go. I wanted to cry. I wanted a whole damn week with them. They don't care. They're too self involved to remember lil ol' me up in redneck-ville who gets to see the babies once ina blue moon.

But, guilt trips aside, I'm ok I guess. I talked to Cassidy and Carter. Carter actually said Hello, Aunt Sara. how are you? and Happy Easter, the asked for Chewy (my dog) who I FINALLY got to bark and then he reverted to calling me Uncle Shawn again. Those kids, I swear. But they brightened my day.

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So now here I am. I have been on line for some time now. I helped google out some sites for a research paper K.K. is doing. I read thru a couple of my fave diaries. And now am updating my own. See what happens when ya go sleepless. Ya get diarrhea of the fingers I tell you. And I outsmarted Diaryland. I am copy and pasting my entry in intervals tyo emails so I dont lose it like many times before. I've put too much into this one. Hell, people prolly won;t even get this far.

Hell, people probably don't even read this. I never get comments, except from Ange. I don't know if they know that where it reads:

0 highly philosophised comments....

that they can click there and leave a note. But they do now.

I'm headed back to sim-land. Thank God, right?

More later I'm sure.

We've only just beeeeguuuuuunnnn.....

LOL

************************ Chocoholic Reasonette #1: 5% of women crave chocolate after sex, the other 95% crave chocolate INSTEAD of sex. (Ain't that the truth?)