Well, we joked that it was a date. I don't think being driven around by Ray's mom while talking about Becky as much as I did would truly qualify as a date. And if it WAS, in fact, a date, then my talking about Becky almost continuously made me a terrible romancer.
It started with me waking Ray a half hour before ym appointment. I was surprised to find him still asleep. But when you rely on your cell phone as an alarm clock, and you fail to charge the phone properly, oversleeping is quite possible. Ray's car remains an air conditionless wonder, and so he got his mom to come by and take me to my surgical followup. Her car is full of...stuff. I don't know what any of it is, but the back seat is filled to capacity. So Ray wouldn't be coming along.
Now about the doctor's appointment. Ray and I set our calenders when my surgery was scheduled. Both of us had 23 July at 2:00 PM as the followup. Yet when I arrived at the doctor's office, I was told my appointment was last 20 July at 10:00 AM. "No," I said. "The people who drive me from point A to point B don't know what morning is, and I would never set up an appointment in the morning unless it was absolutely necessary." Emergency visits, for example, are absolutely necessary. But this appointment...? No, I think Ray and I were right, and a clerical error on the doc's office is responsible for the screw-up.
Whatever or whoever was at fault, they were still able to see me. They were pleased at how the incisions were healing. That's the good news. The bad news is that I have yet to make an appointment to go for physical therapy, and they were rather insistent on it. I've been avoiding it because this recovery has been particularly rough. While it's not as bad as it was, my knee still hurts a great deal. I was told that I need to get my butt to PT or I could lose mobility in my leg. And "but I don't wanna" isn't a good excuse anymore.
Heading home, Ray's mom and I discussed what to do next. More driving was needed as we began what has become my monthly drug quest. I suggested she and I hang out, ditch the kid, and that we could go dining and dancing while we were out. (Neither of us is in any shape to even FAKE dancing.) So we stopped at home to fill Ray in on the plan, and then she and I were on our way to pick up prescriptions at the pain specialist.
When I started seeing the pain specialist, I signed a contract stating that I would only go to two pharmacies to get my meds. Drug seekers don't like to be consistent. I took this contract very seriously, and have done everything I'm supposed to when it comes to keeping my word. However, I'd already made phone calls before Ray's mom came to get me, and I knew that both pharmacies on that contract did not have the meds I needed in the quantity I needed them in. So when I picked up the meds, I told the nurse at the front desk that I was going to have to drive around to find what I needed. I was both stunned and annoyed when I heard her mutter, "I don't care."
Surprise, surprise...My previous plight with getting my meds filled was the same as my last problem. The insurance company wants to know why I need so many pills for a single month. I think the problem is that these companies are run by number crunchers and not doctors. So I was unable to get my morphine sulfate today, and I run out tomorrow. This would be a good time to panic, except that I can keep my body's need for opiates sated with the meds that I DO have. I might have to take it even easier than normal, but I should be okay. Meanwhile, the pharmacy will work on getting that prescription filled.
My "date" was coming to a rapid end, and instead of Becky being my main topic of conversation on the way home, I shared a few nuggets of my family history. I mentioned the greedy, selfish bigot that is my youngest brother Barry. I told about how I broke my wrist when I was five and my mother slammed the front door on the face of her child who was screaming in pain. Mixed in with some story telling from Ray's mom, the time was filled in rather nicely, and we got things accomplished. Mind you, my knee has turned into a balloon from all of my efforts today, but a little rest will help that.
As I said, Becky was the main topic for me. I'm still spending my time, babbling away. "Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky, Becky Becky, Becky Becky Becky Becky; Becky Becky Becky Becky Becky!" One of the things that's been preying on my mind is that I seem to be hit with more bouts of exhaustion of late, specifically when I'm talking to the woman I love. Is it because of my meds? Is it because of all the healing my body is trying to do? Or is it psychological?
It's that last that worries me most. If it's the other two...Well, time will allow me to adjust to meds, as well as heal up. But if it's psychological, then what's the cause? I should not only be happy that I found love, but filled with energy for it. I shared this with Ray's mom, and a new (old) theory has come into play. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things don't go well for me. Every time "happily ever after" comes my way, it all goes south. I've apparently adjusted to the idea that good things don't happen to me on a regular basis, and being in love for the rest of my life just isn't supposed to happen.
The thing is that Becky and I have discussed this in the past. She's told me I can wait all I want for the other shoe to drop; but I'll be waiting a LONG time. And Ray's mom warned me not to work so hard to make this a self-fulfilling prophecy, to which I said that I'm actually working against that idea. I'm the one who suggested all the upcoming visits. I'm the one who tries to break away from the nonstop silliness to let the love between us become our focal point. I'm the one who's made it clear that OUR plans should mold to Becky's plans for school and a career, and not allow her plans to mold to the idea of "us." In short, I have been working as best I can to make sure this works.
I just wish Becky and I could take my subconscious out and hold a kind of intervention with it. Sit it down and explain that life can be good, and that it shouldn't be trying to shut down my consciousness so I can flee from this great love that I've found. Becky says she's not going to give up on me. I'm prepared to take her at her word. But my psychological makeup has doubts...or so it seems.
Maybe it's time to order that do-it-yourself home lobotomy kit?
Be well, all.