It’s Just a Letter

I got the appointment info for the kidney specialist that HSC referred him to.  The letter came yesterday and so much was going on with me that I just didn’t want to deal, but now I’m more equipped to handle this.

This appointment is with a Doctor who’s located in the Credit Valley Hospital which is in Mississauga, and without a car it’s about as easy to get to as perhaps the far side of the Moon.  I know that Devlin needs to get this whole thing with his kidneys looked at and see what’s going on with them, but at the same time why does it have to be so difficult to get these things done?

Public Transit is out of the question because while there is about as good a chance of us getting booked on to the wheel chair accessible public transportation here in Toronto, they aren’t allowed to cross over into Mississauga and we can’t just jump onto a Mississauga public transportation bus because you have to meet with the transit authority first accompanied by piles of medical documentation that you put before them that proves that yes you are disabled and that you do need to have access to this service.  And I doubt that Mississauga transit is going to allow me to get an appointment and get approval by next Wednesday, the date of Devlin’s appointment..

Back in the first week of October when things were going just a tiny bit wrong the Hubby turned to my Mom and myself and said ‘Well at least things can’t get any worse.’ and then the fan was brought out and someone flung poo at it and Voila here’s where we are today.
So, when my Mom said to me ‘At least things can’t get any worse.’ I cried out in an attempt to drown her out so that the PTB wouldn’t hear her mockage of them and turn their wrath on me yet again.  I knocked three times on wood and held my breath, hoping that I’d managed to avoid yet another fan being brought out and the poo thrower can just pack up and go home because we just don’t like his sort around here.

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About katastrophes1

Kat is a 20 something girl stuck in a 40 something body. Mom to 3 kids, tormented and amused by 3 crazy dogs. Amateur photographer, self taught crochet junkie. Thinker of crazy thoughts. Where do they come from? Who knows where thoughts occur, they just happen!
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