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stephbgFrankly I'm losing track.
Highlight of today was getting my liver and sundry squishy internals examined via ultrasound. Not nearly as fun as the heart echocardiogram. I found the place, got parking, was in plenty of time and was the only person there who'd followed instructions to the letter vis-a-vis paperwork. Unfortunately after waiting two weeks for this appointment my arrival caused a stir because it had been rescheduled (to when I never discovered). Nonetheless they squeezed me in.
I later discovered that the clinic's privacy policy prevents them from leaving phone messages, so if you don't happen to pick up the phone when they call about a change to your appointment, you miss out. Nor can you dial back. What an excellent system with which to afflict sick people.
The place was a circus, for apart from the usual crowds the place was undergoing renovations to add a new MRI room. Plaster-dusted ladder-carrying tradesmen attempted to tippytoe past the patients, then knocked loudly on walls seeking cavities. A bit like an ultrasound really.
Brief moments of entertainment were provided by regular patients swinging through the door to approach the presumably former reception desk, only to be brought up short by a plasterboard barrier. A large potplant placed presuambly to help disguise the temporary wall succeeded only in reducing the effective working space even further.
I was ushered through and the lady with the blunt instrament and the cold goo did her thing. She was uncommunicative, although I probably asked difficult questions about bright spots. I got a stock answer that there are different types of tissue. Some features attracted her attention and she zoomed and measured. Frankly by the end of it I was convinced she'd found something extremely nasty.
Came back later and collected my films and the document laughingly referred to as "the report". About the only thing for certain was the expected buck-passing recommendation for a cat scan. Fortunately I don't have long to wait for a translation; I'm seeing the GP tomorrow morning and he should have another one of my pointless test results back.
In other news
Had a better time late afternoon rapid-prototyping XempleX software to manage the art show fees and sales. If all goes well there'll be a lot less time spent writing in receipt books.
This morning I passed through my personal oh-my-god-it's-going-to-be-a-disaster moment, and have regained my confidence. Plenty left to do still (and I've been neglecting my panel prep which is sad), but it is doable.
Highlight of today was getting my liver and sundry squishy internals examined via ultrasound. Not nearly as fun as the heart echocardiogram. I found the place, got parking, was in plenty of time and was the only person there who'd followed instructions to the letter vis-a-vis paperwork. Unfortunately after waiting two weeks for this appointment my arrival caused a stir because it had been rescheduled (to when I never discovered). Nonetheless they squeezed me in.
I later discovered that the clinic's privacy policy prevents them from leaving phone messages, so if you don't happen to pick up the phone when they call about a change to your appointment, you miss out. Nor can you dial back. What an excellent system with which to afflict sick people.
The place was a circus, for apart from the usual crowds the place was undergoing renovations to add a new MRI room. Plaster-dusted ladder-carrying tradesmen attempted to tippytoe past the patients, then knocked loudly on walls seeking cavities. A bit like an ultrasound really.
Brief moments of entertainment were provided by regular patients swinging through the door to approach the presumably former reception desk, only to be brought up short by a plasterboard barrier. A large potplant placed presuambly to help disguise the temporary wall succeeded only in reducing the effective working space even further.
I was ushered through and the lady with the blunt instrament and the cold goo did her thing. She was uncommunicative, although I probably asked difficult questions about bright spots. I got a stock answer that there are different types of tissue. Some features attracted her attention and she zoomed and measured. Frankly by the end of it I was convinced she'd found something extremely nasty.
Came back later and collected my films and the document laughingly referred to as "the report". About the only thing for certain was the expected buck-passing recommendation for a cat scan. Fortunately I don't have long to wait for a translation; I'm seeing the GP tomorrow morning and he should have another one of my pointless test results back.
In other news
Had a better time late afternoon rapid-prototyping XempleX software to manage the art show fees and sales. If all goes well there'll be a lot less time spent writing in receipt books.
This morning I passed through my personal oh-my-god-it's-going-to-be-a-disaster moment, and have regained my confidence. Plenty left to do still (and I've been neglecting my panel prep which is sad), but it is doable.
