Sheesh.

I felt harried and overburdened this morning as I made my way through the process of receiving a ct scan. I was tired and confused as I drove to the hospital. Some cruel fate had sent me out on a cold, rainy, morning -- all by myself -- to park my car and walk to the elevator and negotiate the people and the lines. Somehow I couldn't believe it.

A 325 year old woman stood before in line at the oncology department. She was tiny and grey, but she was one of those spitfire-types. I'm sure people have been calling her a pip for the last three centuries. Unfortunately, I was exhausted and couldn't fathom that I had to stand there and wait for her to unfold her elaborate nest of bags, purses, smaller purses, smaller purses, smaller and smaller purses, until she somehow found her credit card within the insane labyrinth of her personal storage items. All of this for a three dollar co-pay! I felt dizzy and sick. I smiled blandly.

The infusion nurses couldn't find a vein. I don't know how many pricks later -- after heating pads and tourniquets and one unwanted hug -- it was finally decided that my forbidden arm was to be used. Fine. I wonder, though, why it took 1 hours and 20 minutes and a half dozen band aids to make that call?

I shuffled over to a trailer in the parking lot of the MacArthur/Broadway Mall to check in for my scan. My appointment was at 9:40 and I arrived at 9:40 -- IV dangling, arm dotted with cotton balls and blood... sick to my stomach and near tears and coffee-less... only to be told that I was LATE. I was late, and they'd taken the person who was to have followed me.

I protested (stupidly, at that point) that I wasn't late! I wasn't late... I'd been sitting in infusion for an hour and 20 minutes, being pricked & pricked... trying to be a good sport... and they'd given my appointment away!

"You need to check in no later than 9:25 for a 9:40 appointment", she snapped.

"Well, I was 20 yards away, trying to ready myself for my 9:40 appointment", I cried.

Sigh.

Oh, the burden of it! I'm laughing now, but I wasn't laughing then. I was so put upon by it all. How could this be happening? First cancer, and now a snippy little girl telling me I'm LATE when I wasn't LATE.

The scan itself was uneventful. The tech was cheerful and efficient, the activities routine for me now. Now there's a warm sensation in your arm. A metallic taste in your mouth. Breathe in. Hold your breath.

Then it was time to get dressed and go to work. Which I did. And I stopped for coffee on the way.