In the grand scheme of things, "taking 10" can mean many things. You can take a 10 minute break. You can pause before becoming angry and take 10 deep breaths. In D&D, "taking 10" means a character spends time to achieve a task. On a cosmic scale, taking 10 could mean ten thousand years, or 10 millennium.
Me? I'd like 10 weeks. I mean, between 10 deep breaths and 10 millennium, I think 10 weeks is a reasonable request...Isn't it? I just want 10 weeks of nothing "exciting" happening. Let everything be suspended, status quo, and let me stop fretting over one thing or another.
Yesterday started with a minor miracle. I went to the doctor at 10 AM as requested. Much to my surprise, this turned into the day when people simply didn't show up for their appointments. I was seen by Dr. M quickly...and he yelled at me. Well, not exactly "yell." But I did get a talking to about my meds. I had to make him stop and recognize that despite appearances, I was not abusing my meds.
Allow me to pause a moment and point out that what he knows is what's in my file. He sees a prescription for 120 Xanax to be taken once every six hours, and I had to clarify that although it's written that way, I'm only taking one and a half tablets a day. He sees me going through 150 painkillers in 22 days, but needed to be reminded that I actually stretched it an extra week.
Perception is everything in my case, and I had him calming down a bit by the end of the visit. However, because Dr. G and I have been so preoccupied by my sickly feet, we've overlooked some of the basics, like blood work. Dr. M ordered all kinds of blood draws. We'll be checking my liver, kidneys, and diabetes control...the last of which I fully expect to be a poor result because I've been dealing with infection for so long. He also told me to keep my 29 April appointment to follow up.
One of the things he ordered was a fasting blood glucose, meaning that I could eat and drink nothing before having the blood drawn. So I prepared myself mentally to once again venture out early to get that taken care of.
As I'm fond of reminding folks, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans."
One of the joys of being a diabetic, taking all the meds that I do, and living in one of the hottest States in the Union is that I'm thirsty a lot. At the start of the month, I buy a supply of sugar free powdered drinks. My favorite has become Ocean Spray cranberry drinks. I'm getting plenty of vitamin C each day because of it, and have managed to avoid any serious colds this winter for it.
Last night, when I went to grab an ice cube for a drink refill, I noticed the ice cube was...wet. As in melting kind of wet. Sure enough, each time I went to grab more ice for my drinks, the ice cubes were getting smaller and smaller. My fridge, which usually did some kind of humming every now and again, was completely silent. I knew it wasn't a power issue because the light inside was working. MY assessment was that my refrigerator had died. Certainly, everything inside it was slowly warming up.
There was nothing I could do about it at 10 PM, so I went to bed with a prayer in my head that I was wrong.
And I was...kinda. The first thing I did when I awoke was call management and let them know about the problem. What little I had in the fridge had become inedible. The ice, which can't really spoil, had become tiny cubes drifting in a tray of water. So while I waited for maintenance to show up, I started throwing away everything. An extremely difficult task when taking my finances into consideration.
The head maintenance man arrived and instantly saw the problem. A dial that I had never touched since this unit was brought to me a year and a half ago was turned all the way up, and the lines inside had frozen. The fans had stopped spinning, resulting in no cold air circulating. So he cracked open the fridge's guts and made sure everything defrosted after that dial was turned down. Like Frankenstein's monster coming to life, the fridge started its regular humming, with the fans visibly running properly. In the last few hours, my ice has been turning to ice again, and I still have plenty of powdered drink left...
...but that's it. Everything else spoiled, and I'm off to ask a neighbor if I can borrow money to replenish my food supply. I asked in the office if they would help me get food, but because of the dial I never touched, they blame me. It's in my apartment. I must have toyed with that dial. Thus, it's not their fault, so they have no responsibility for my spoiled food.
By the time everything was settled, it was close to noon...right around the time everyone in that blood lab heads for lunch. By the time they return, and I get in there, it will have reached a time when I'm absolutely famished. I won't be able to wait around, and that whole "fasting blood glucose" thing will be ruined. Now I have to wait until tomorrow to get that done.
So...Really...When do I get a break? How is it that one man can experience so many issues, one right after another. It's never just one thing. It's a series of little issues that pile on top of one another, becoming bigger issues.
I. WANT. A. BREAK!
Having said that, and with full knowledge of my luck, I'll probably step out later to check the mail, fall, and break my leg. And that, my friends, will be my break.