The chicken run

I was back at the hospital recently picking up the much-anticipated trial drugs from the endocrinology department.

I am not a fan of many hospitals, this one in particular.  There were too many bad memories and needles to speak of but that generally all paled in comparison to the drive getting there.  I tried to pick my times carefully when I left so that they didn’t coincide with the 4wd brigade picking up their over-indulged and under-exercised kids on the 3 o’clock run – but alas, sometimes even the best laid plans had a tendency to go awry.

I managed to get myself to the hospital without too much fuss – apart from the red-faced, screaming redneck I managed to beat off the lights – which is another story best left to extolling the virtues of my turbo diesel VW over a feral-fur lined gas guzzler.  But I got in the door of the hospital 15 minutes early, so I was on track.

Unfortunately, I had overestimated my doctor’s confidence in my abilities to self-administer the required dosages and the hospital pharmacy’s speed of administration of a box of these dosages, so my estimated time of departure was delayed dramatically to approximately 15 minutes before school got out.  In retrospect I’m surprised that I was allowed to take home any sharp implements at all after dropping the NovoPen and nearly stabbing the doctor in the arm in my haste to speed things up a little.

I got out of there with the drugs on ice and my foot on the accelerator pedal in an attempt to get through the epicentre of the chaos and out the other side without too much anxiety.  I was a veteran of the kamakaze not-for-chicken’s run and although I knew all the shortcuts and secret runs, so did every other frustrated fractured personality on the Southside and it was  just a good verbal jousting away from a crowbar through the windscreen.

With an esky full of nonrefundables and an expiry date on patience, I decided that discretion and inventiveness would be the better part of valor when I spotted an ambulance in the outside lane.  As soon as I let it past, I was right behind it.  I managed to get a good 10 kilometres through the worst of it before we went our separate ways and I slowed down a little.  I’m surprised I wasn’t pulled up by the local constabulatory but I was high on what little adrenaline I had left so I didn’t care.

So shoot me.  I’ll be sticking needles in myself for the rest of the year to get a semblance of the quality of life back that most take for granted.  I’ll enjoy my moments when I can.


3 Responses to “The chicken run”

  1. Barb Wright Says:

    Wow, sounds like quite the stressful day. I hope things settle down, and I’m praying for your recovery. I had no idea that you were battling an illness, and you are so right about taking good health for granted. Big wake up call there, thank you.

    • writemystuff Says:

      Yes, Barb it was quite stressful but it is part of life for me. 🙂 I don’t like it but who am I going to give it to? Maybe in my next life I can come back as a spoiled Bichon like mine.

    • writemystuff Says:

      Thanks for your concern Barb. Right now I’m taking it one day at a time. Writing short spiels about my adventures seems to get it out of my system 🙂

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