Potion #71

Her garage was the most up-to-date scientific lab in the city. If the local university had the funding that she did, they would have certainly come up with a cure for cancer in no time at all. For that matter, if her interests had leaned in that direction, even the least little bit, she could have done it herself.

But she was slightly crooked of center.

file000195933220.jpgShe stirred the pot and gently sniffed the fumes rising up from the simmering liquid. It’s molten gold! she thought, and reached for a beaker. Grabbing a deep ladle, she very cautiously dipped out a spoonful of the steaming liqueur, and even more carefully poured it into the Erlenmeyer before placing it alone atop a separate stainless steel table to cool off enough for further testing.

That done, she retired to her living room to put her feet up and binge watch another season of Buffy.

 


Walking in Circles

I knew something was wrong when I stepped out of the lab and Gerald wasn’t there to greet me. Gerald never took a sick day. Not that I can remember, and I’ve been here with him for sixteen years. That should have been my first clue, and the only one I needed.

The green exit sign flickered at me, beckoning, but I just stood there, confused. You know how sometimes you have to stop and think a minute as soon as you close your front door behind you? Did I leave the stove on, did I pick up my keys before I locked the door? That’s how I felt without Gerald there wishing me a good night. Lost.

The company hadn’t even posted a replacement guard at the door, which was even stranger. You have to pass some pretty serious security checks to mop the floors in this building, let alone wander around the biology lab unsupervised.

I shook off an odd chill and dropped my lab coat in the bin outside the locker room. No one else came in while I showered and dressed, even though I took my sweet time. Also strange. Nobody worked an officially regular schedule, sure, but we tended to cluster our comings and goings around the same hour or so. Except Larry, but Larry has that circadian rhythm disorder.

The echo of the padlock closing seemed louder than I’d ever heard it before. I turned around and noticed that the towel shelves were nearly empty. Laundry wasn’t the best department, but they were usually on top of their game enough that the towels deadened the sound a bit in this metal box of a room. I slipped my keys from my pocket and held them in my hand for the trip to my car.

Accepting that something was wrong would be the logical next step, but logic had left the building. I was freaking out, no beating around the bush. I’m just glad I wore tennis shoes to work; the tapping of my hard soled dress shoes in this empty shell of a building would probably have been too much for my lizard brain to take. The random squeaks were bad enough as it was.

Hang on. I should have been at the doors by now. But I’m not. Like I said, I’ve walked these halls for sixteen years. I’m not going to dissolve into a puddle of nonsensical lunacy now. I’ll just see whose office this is. 106. That’s Dr. Matthews. Two rights and a left and I’ll be at security, ready to wave goodnight to whomever’s manning the desk at this hour.

Hang on. I should have been at the doors by now. But I’m not. Like I said, I’ve walked these halls for sixteen years. I’m not going to dissolve into a puddle of nonsensical lunacy now. I’ll just see whose office this is. 106. That’s Dr. Matthews. Two rights and a left and I’ll be at security, ready to wave goodnight to whomever’s manning the desk at this hour.

Hang on. I should have been at the doors by now. But I’m not.

Hang on.

Hang on.

I wonder where Gerald’s run off to.

DSC_7348


More Medical Drama

I know, I know, I never got back to you about the jerk doctor I saw before my doctor on the fourteenth. But I’ll tell you now, because this is where the drama began.

Well, there’s a bit of backstory. When I was seeing the RE, he ‘didn’t see a need’ for a semen analysis. This was before the paternity test, so there was no reason to think my husband was any more fertile than I am, but there you have it.

He said we’ll also ‘assume’ that my tubes are clear. Thanks, dude. Way to show that concern.

Anyway.

When I went for my ultrasound followup it was on my list to ask if family practice can order a semenalysis, or if we needed a referral to urology.

Jerk doctor’s first question was whether I had insurance or not. I knew it would be a great visit from there. He said there was no reason for me to be there, they couldn’t do anything for me anyway, and insisted I needed to see an OB instead. Wtf. After he hounded me about how often I took provera, because PRN was apparently not a good enough answer, I gave up trying to talk to the guy.

When he asked ‘anything else?’ I dared to ask about the semenalysis. His answer? ‘We don’t do that. There are clinics in town that do that if you can afford it.’ I was fuming by then, and just shut down. He actually noticed that something was wrong! In tears, I snapped that I came in today expecting to see MY doctor, not someone who didn’t care about patients at all.

He got my doctor.

She came in and asked what happened, and apologized when I told her he said he couldn’t do anything for me. She said she’d find out about the semenalysis and try to get me an earlier appointment at the women’s clinic. It turns out that yes, they can do that in family practice.

Today was my husband’s appointment. We had our fingers crossed that he could take care of business today, and we wouldn’t have to come back, but alas! Apparently, they only count sperm before lunchtime. So we go back in the morning. And he’ll have to do the deed there, because our travel time plus registration waits may equal too long. He’s not too excited about this.

But the real fun came at the financial office. When he registered today, they waived the copay so he could apply for free care, as long as he applies before his next appointment. Which is now tomorrow morning, so we went straight to the office afterward, with all the paperwork I brought when I applied.

That wasn’t enough for the guy who ‘helped’ us. I don’t know of too many other ways I can say ‘I do not have a self employment tax return for 2010 because I was not self employed until 2011.’ He couldn’t grasp that. Finally he got pissed and got his supervisor, I can only assume to tell me I was being stupid. Oops, guess who was being stupid? I hope he had fun copying every weekly invoice I had since last June. He didn’t have much to say after that.

But (duh) my husband was approved, and he should hear something by Friday about his results. Which I’m sure will be fine, and only serve to make me feel guilty. At least we’ll know, right?