Sep. 13th, 2010 08:43 pm
Lovely day for a goose chase!
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muckefuckSo I woke up today with visions of lazing around with my foot raised and iced while I sipped tea and read Kafka. And that vision was actually a reality for all of, like, thirty minutes. Then my PCP's office called back to ask why anyone thought I could get crutches there. I told them my insurance said they might have them; they told me to call my insurance provider. So I did and they told me they couldn't pay for them without a doctor's prescription. So I called back my PCP's office and found--to my utter amazement--she had an opening for 1:30.
The only problem was that that was only 45 minutes away. I hauled ass, but still found myself stuck in traffic on Halsted at 1:35, calling and begging for more time. I got it. Forty minutes later, I was waiting for the northbound bus as I wolfed half the sandwich I managed to stuff into a sack which now held a prescription for crutches and three referrals. One of these was for an X-ray at Illinois Masonic, which they dispatched with a level of efficiency and cordiality I've come to treasure. (The lovely woman in Radiology offered to show me the way out. "Don't worry," I told her, "I've been before.")
Another was for a podiatrist just up the block, but at this point I was feeling worn out and only wanted to be back home, so I went straight to the El, figuring I'd only have two blocks to hobble if I took the Devon bus. But the medical supply store was at Devon and California, so I simply stayed on for the additional mile and a half. I had some trouble finding it, since it was basically a hole in the wall--they had all of two sets of crutches, the larger suited for gimps of D&D Elf height.
So I slunk back home, figuring I'd decide in the morning whether I really needed to bother with the damn things after all. Then, after dinner, the decision was taken out of hands when my PCP called with the news I had a fractured metatarsal. So looks like it's back to Lincoln Park for me, since now that appointment with the podiatrist can't wait. On the one hand, I feel like less of a hypochondriac for bothering with the X-ray, but at the same time more of a twat for injuring myself in the first place.
The only problem was that that was only 45 minutes away. I hauled ass, but still found myself stuck in traffic on Halsted at 1:35, calling and begging for more time. I got it. Forty minutes later, I was waiting for the northbound bus as I wolfed half the sandwich I managed to stuff into a sack which now held a prescription for crutches and three referrals. One of these was for an X-ray at Illinois Masonic, which they dispatched with a level of efficiency and cordiality I've come to treasure. (The lovely woman in Radiology offered to show me the way out. "Don't worry," I told her, "I've been before.")
Another was for a podiatrist just up the block, but at this point I was feeling worn out and only wanted to be back home, so I went straight to the El, figuring I'd only have two blocks to hobble if I took the Devon bus. But the medical supply store was at Devon and California, so I simply stayed on for the additional mile and a half. I had some trouble finding it, since it was basically a hole in the wall--they had all of two sets of crutches, the larger suited for gimps of D&D Elf height.
So I slunk back home, figuring I'd decide in the morning whether I really needed to bother with the damn things after all. Then, after dinner, the decision was taken out of hands when my PCP called with the news I had a fractured metatarsal. So looks like it's back to Lincoln Park for me, since now that appointment with the podiatrist can't wait. On the one hand, I feel like less of a hypochondriac for bothering with the X-ray, but at the same time more of a twat for injuring myself in the first place.