7:30 am
Awaken. Song stuck in head that apparently was the
soundtrack of a dream. Remove mask of CPAP machine used to treat sleep apnea,
by undoing the clasps. Typically morbid sense of humor reminds self of being on
a hospital respirator. Rub sleep out of eyes.
8:07 am
In between bites of breakfast, consult calendar. Regular specialist
visit will be today in the late morning. Due to the timing of the appointment,
public transportation will be clogged with morning commuters. Expect to be
standing the whole way, with no chance for a seat.
8:35 am
Following breakfast, catch up on e-mail, Facebook, latest
YouTube viral video, plus general internet cleverness. Wonder what in God’s
name I’m going to write about today.
9:00 am
Walk to bus stop. Crowd consists primarily of professionals
in suits and ties or dresses and high heels. They nervously pace back and
forth, as if grimly preparing for battle. Half tilt their heads downwards,
concentrating with observable effort on their Blackberries. The other half are
completely silent, no doubt contemplating a busy day at work.
9:18 am
Bus arrives. Upon entrance, the unmistakably astringent smell
of urine wafts through the inside of the vehicle. The source is a homeless man,
who constantly talks to himself or at least to no one in particular.
9:32 am
The homeless man is eventually informally diagnosed as a paranoid
schizophrenic off of his medication. He becomes loud and bellicose, demanding
to be let off the bus immediately. Afraid for the physical safety of the
riders, the bus driver swiftly acquiesces to his demands. As the bus pulls
away, jettisoning the man in the parking lot of a gas station, he flails his
arms wildly, still screaming threats.
9:49 am
Arrive at scheduled doctor’s visit. While crossing the
street, observe a near-accident between two cars in one of DC’s famous traffic
circles. The driver of one of the cars was confused about which green light was
hers. It’s a not-uncommon occurrence.
9:51 am
Wade through a sea of chattering college students present on
all sides. Wonder for the eight millionth time if I ever looked that young,
conceding quickly that I simply must have.
10:02 am
The medical center elevator is slower than Christmas, or at
least not much faster. A backlogged crowd gathers, having waited somewhere between
five and ten minutes to board. They pack in together as tightly as sardines.
10:08 am
Checked in, I wait for my name to be called. A large television
monitor broadcasts cable news. I feel nervous and jittery somehow, for reasons
I do not understand.
10:29 am
I am escorted to an exam room. First, however, my weight is
measured, as is my blood pressure. The nurse, while exiting, draws a curtain
across the entrance to the room. This signifies that the room is occupied by a
patient.
10:50 am
The specialist finally arrives. He arrives with a
doctor-in-training, a woman of Arabic descent wearing a headscarf. I take care
to seem as though I am talking to both of them simultaneously, engaging the two in
dialogue.
10:58 am
An impromptu ultrasound is scheduled. A slimy, colorless gel
is smeared on a part of my extremities. The machine’s wand records a general
picture of what the specialist wishes to see more in detail. It’s a messy, sometimes
uncomfortable process, but fortunately passes quickly.
11:05 am
Information from prior tests conducted a week or two in the
past have already been discussed by now. New tests are scheduled. New tests are
always being scheduled. I am to return two days later to the lab downstairs. I
always get lost while exiting the building, but find my way out of the maze
eventually.
11:09 am
My wallet is already overflowing with appointment cards. One
more seems sadly appropriate. I count seven already tucked into one of the
folds.
11:15 am
Back to the bus stop. I allow myself a brief moment of self-pity.
When will this ever end?
11:35 am
I board the bus, which then quickly accelerates, nearly
throwing me towards the rear of the vehicle. This sort of behavior is a DC
trademark. Everyone’s in a hurry.
11:59 am
I’ve returned home. Today is Monday. I will have
appointments scattered throughout the rest of the week, like usual. The cycle
will repeat itself.
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