When the call came today, I was at my theatre group’s event downtown. It was a “business after hours,” I guess normally attended by the same working folks; I didn’t know most of them. I sat with my kids and “my” kids in the corner and dealt with a freaking out Zo and had to leave with her for an hour but that is a different story for another time.
As we were setting up, I noticed I had a voicemail and looked at the transcription. “Hi this is Jack from ________ calling to help you make an appointment with one of our neurologists.” I immediately stood up, found a piece of scrap paper and headed to a dark conference room in the maze of the office storefront, which had formerly been a bank. I was on hold for a bit, nervous about the “one of our neurologists” thing when I was only willing to travel that far for ONE neurologist. And there was a bit of a language barrier but it was clear they were a little confused about why I wanted to travel so far when there was a top headache specialist right nearby. Although the woman couldn’t pronounce her name. “I was a patient of Dr. Tietjen’s for twenty years,” I explained, “after Dr. D___ left that hospital.” She accepted that readily, and I continued to emphasize the disturbing new symptoms, which the receptionist helpfully pointed out is Dr. D____’s area of expertise. They got all of my insurance information, whether or not that will be at all applicable remains to be seen. The appointment was set for July 12, with Dr. D___, the resident who whispered (in 1995) “have you tried marijuana for them” and was willing to call compounding pharmacies in Florida to track down a medication formula that used to work for me years before but was pulled off the market. She can’t have lost ALL of that outside the box thinking. And if she has, okay, let me stay on my pain meds, give me back my imitrex, do some more tests regarding the numbness and tingling and prescribe erenumab. That doesn’t seem like too much to ask. And I know better now than to pin my hopes on any one doctor, medication, or institution.
My new job is part time, twenty hours per week of shelving books at my local public library. It’s called a “library page” which is like the most adorable job title I’ve ever heard of. I know four people who work there, the new director is fantastic, there’s no dress code and nothing was said about my body art. My first day? Monday. The day of the HU conference.
Here is a little video about what a library page does:
Hope. Springs. Eternal.
Thanks for the image sister Jane.