Never Call a Doctor on a Monday

8 Feb

I am almost out of some medicine one of my doctors prescribed, and my druggist has been trying to get in touch with this woman since the middle of last week, with no luck. This morning I decided to call myself and see if I could get any action.

I was on the phone for forty-five minutes, by the clock, listening to some fool tell me a) how important my call was, and b) how heart disease was the leading cause of death in women. I didn’t believe the first and don’t particularly care about the second. I much prefer a heart attack to, say, cancer.

While I waited, I watched a squirrel at one of the feeders in the front yard. The poor thing was limping, and its fur had been pulled out in clumps, until it looked pock marked. The Squire and I vaguely discussed what might have caused this. It is too early for the animals to be molting, but he thought perhaps it might have been a female who had pulled out hunks of fur to line her nest.

At any rate, after listening to this recording for the better part of an hour, another voice came on and informed me I had reached a non-working number and to please hang up!

We went to the Y, stopped for lunch, and then went up to visit eldest daughter. She had just returned from a business trip with her husband and had saved all of the toiletries for me to make Care Packages (anybody out there old enough to remember what a real Care Package was?) to send up to the food pantry. We visited with her and the Munchkin, and got back home around two. I fixed myself a cuppa and settled in to call the doctor back. Got an answer on the second ring! The receptionist said they had gotten two calls from the pharmacy last week;  the doctor wasn’t in today, but she had sent another electronic message telling her that I had called.

While I was up taking my nap, The Squire went out to get the gas cans to fill my car (I didn’t have enough fuel to get to the gas station!) and found the pock marked squirrel having convulsions out by the barn, writhing and squealing all over the ground. He took a square-bladed shovel and broke its neck; I would have probably picked it up and sang to it until it died in my arms, so it’s just as well he was the one to make the discovery. He called the County Animal Control when he came in, and missed them by about two minutes, so the poor critter is lying in state on the workbench the barn. Just wondering what mysterious plague had attacked one of “our” squirrels, and do we need to keep an eye out for anything else.

 

 

 

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