I’m waiting outside of my apartment, anxiety building as I wait in the heat for a cab. I have to get to this doctor’s appointment or lose the money the state gives me that makes me barely able to afford this shithole apartment.
Then, I see him coming, slowly because he’s old. Cat Man, my would be groom. I weigh my options. If I run back into my apartment, he’ll know I’m ducking him and that would be wrong to do. The memory of his ‘ proposal’ fills me with revulsion, much as I much like every time my friend tries to pawn me off on her horny elderly friend or when someone offers to buy me a male escort. I am momentarily struck with the feeling of utter hopelessness that I swallow before he is standing next to me and I have to pretend that I’m a nice person.
He is offering to give me a kind of cat food if his cats won’t eat it and I thank him.
“I’m sorry, I need to see why my ride isn’t here,” I say and run back inside.
And I’m not even on the schedule apparently, though Medicaid transportation assured me I was. “Someone will be there in a few minutes,” says the cab dispatcher. Great. Brilliant. I’m supposed to be there in five minutes. Right at 2 pm, the cab comes, but at least he’s here and it’s not that far.
The nurse is taking my vitals. She asks about my summer, and I tell her I’ve just been staying home. She’s taking my blood pressure and telling me how it might be for the best, since they’re shooting everyone nowadays. She tells me about someone messing up a pizza where her daughter lives and getting shot for it. Then how at our local mall rivalling gangs shot at each other.
“Eh, they shot someone at my apartment complex a couple of years ago. Drug deal gone bad. He lived though,” I said.
My blood pressure is normal in spite of the nurse trying to turn me agoraphobic. Being shot is probably not the worst way to die as long as the bastard gets you in the head properly. I’m more afraid of dying slow from a disease. Now if I saw someone with a gun, I might feel differently.
The nurse practitioner is on to me about having a mammogram and a blood test. They’ve gone from insisting on probing my lower anatomy every year to every 3 years because doctors are fickle and change guidelines every week or two.Not like I have much of a chance of ever be doing anything to get HPV anyway.
I explain why I can’t have anything done right now, thanks anyway. “My friend has sarcoid and I can’t afford finding out if something’s wrong with me while she needs me.”
I don’t say how bad my friend made me feel the last time I needed her at an appointment at a time when she was in perfect health. I’d be completely alone, so it’s better to not know.
I’ve lost 9 lbs since my last visit to the doctor, but no worries since Burger King is just across the street beckoning me like an old friend and it’s Whopper Wednesday. My friend calls me while I’m indulging in my vice, ‘chasing the Whopper dragon’ if you will. I answer, though, I know she’ll scoff at me if she finds me snorting flame broiled perfection. I’m trying to always answer her timely, because otherwise she’ll get mad and think I don’t want to hear about her problems. The other day I had to prove that my one phone broke and the other isn’t charging right because I didn’t answer her for 15 hours. If I don’t answer until the afternoon I get a facetious ‘Good Morning’ and I have to pretend it doesn’t make me angry. I sometimes just want to fucking scream. I have absolutely no problem with her unburdening herself on me at anytime, but the constant nitpicking at my faults gets me at my core.
Since I’m out I decide to go to Roses Discount Store. There are some things that can be had at Roses that are cheaper than even Walmart. I should make a haul video and try not to stutter.
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