the passionate ailurophile

…yeah, Mike has to go and see the mofo today, in fact, he’s probably there now as I type this. I had forgotten all about it, good thing I didn’t buy the Boston Pops tickets for tonight instead of tomorrow. Because Dr. Quackenstein tends to keep patients waiting forever, and then Mike would never have been able to get to the restaurant on time to have dinner before the show.

No doubt he will be wicked stressed when he gets home, because going to the doctor always sucks big fat hairy smelly syphilitic donkey ‘nads. Even though the last time Mike saw Dr. Q, they agreed to disagree about unnecessary surgery and shit, but you never know when the lectures will start again. Sadly, Mike is a slave to the health care system now, because he needs certain pills, and he is forced to see the doctor in order to get them renewed.

But he’s made it clear that he will NOT be incarcerated in that shithole of a hospital again, not as long as he’s conscious enough to have a say. I will go along with this, as long as I get the same treatment in return. Let me die before putting me in that hellhole. Melrose-Wakefield Hospital is a fucking joke; the only thing it’s good for is it’s maternity ward. But once you are a functioning adult, they could not care less about you. The place is a run-down, skeevy cesspool, with nasty-assed employees. Don’t let the spiffy new signs and shit on the outside of the dump fool you. It’s still a dump on the inside. Says she who got sick from eating their nasty cafeteria food, the last time Mike was stuck in that shithole. Only I made sure I didn’t tell anyone there about that, because they’d have me trapped in a bed there, too.

If you have to go and visit someone there, stay the fuck away from that cafeteria. Get food for yourself from either the Shaw’s supermarket, they make sandwiches there that are pretty good, or Papa Gino’s. If anyone gives you shit about bringing in outside food, tell them to get fucked. Up the ass. With a splintery flagpole. And no lube.

So Mike will no doubt come home, pissing and moaning about Dr. Q and his need for a new Porsche (aka, Mike needs to go in for surgery that he doesn’t need). And no doubt there will be more bitching from the office staff over the fact that the only working phone number they have for Mike is his work one. We changed our landline number last year partly because of these assholes (and partly because of Mike’s mother being a nutcase). This doctor’s office used to call me at home and harass me because Mike never called them back. I told them that he was at WORK, yanno, the WORK that provides the health insurance that pays your fucking salaries? If you want to talk to him directly, call his ass there. That is where he is during business hours. I can pass on messages, but I can force him to call you back if he doesn’t want to.

I was sick of the verbal abuse I was taking from these bitches, so the number had to get changed. Mike had been threatened with divorce, or even death, if he gives the new number out to either his nutjob mother, or the nutjob doctor’s office people. So far he hasn’t, because no one has bothered me thus far.

I will NEVER go to a doctor, ever. I know I have a bunch of shit wrong with me that I won’t discuss here, but I will just let nature take its course, and when I croak, I croak. What is the point of staying alive when you are stuck in some shithole hospital, with no chance of getting out until they’ve sucked you and your insurance company dry? I’d rather fucking be dead. I’d be miserable, sitting there, thinking about all of the beer I can’t drink, the ball games I’m missing, and wanting to kill the fucking doctor who comes into the room and turns off the TV while Good Eats is on. Geez, it costs five bucks a day for the fucking TV in that dump, it’s the ONE joy you have when you’re there, it takes some serious brass balls to just turn it off, in the middle of your fave show.

Fuck that shit. I’m staying as far away from doctors and hospitals as possible, because I want to live out my days having fun, going to ball games, and doing things I want to do. If I were ever stuck in a hospital, especially during baseball season, I swear, I would find a way to commit suicide. That’s how much I’m against going for medical care these days. I’d really rather be dead than deal with all of the shit that I’ve seen Mike go through.

If Mike comes home tonight and tells me that he has agreed to go to the hospital, he is on his own. I will NEVER set foot in that hellhole ever again, not even for him.