PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

So it went like this....

I got a text from a girl who is really a nurse-girl (and also a friend's wife) who works at a hospital who was speaking with a Neurologist about my condition and the doc said he wanted to see me and all and could possibly help and so I made an appointment and they sent me a packet of paper which made me feel like I was in school again answering all those silly questions but there was no grade and I was suppose to bring it with me and I talked to a nice nurse-type girl who worked at the office on the phone and she gave me a seeminly comfortable date to come in and see the doctor so I filled out the proper paper work and was glad I wasn't graded for hand-writing or grammar and drove after a normal half-day of work out to Aurora and into the hospital complex while listening to an album I've been waiting for to come out for quite some time but was magicially put on NPR Music a week earlier(for a pre-listen I guess) and I was happy but chain-smoking as always(even though I knew they would take my blood pressure once I got inside and scold me about the cigarettes) and found the place pretty easily thanks to the technology in my phone these days and walked with my new prescription sunglasses which the Indian woman at Pearle Vision told me were selling like, "Hot Cakes!" in a Canadian accent, (which I thought was really funny and also made me smile) and had my other new(regular) pair of glasses folded all neat clipped to the top of my shirt and thinking I was kinda hot-shit-but-not-that-hot-of-shit because, after all, i'm kinda blind, and I walked into that big medical complex feeling a little afraid but hopefull for some reason and I found the Suite # just fine and walked up and gave the nurse-looking girl all my credentials (and thank-god I had insurance and a valid ID ya know) and it all went real smooth and I was early for probably the second time in my life and they told me I was early (they had no idea it was ONLY the second time in my life) and they said to have a seat and the doctor would be with me shortly and so I sat down and crossed my legs which hurt my balls a little bit but became comfortable once the Ol' Boys got settled and I was looking at all the artwork and there was tons of stuff with clouds and roads and mostly clouds and I heard snippets of the nurse-girls conversations and all they were talking about was Diet Coke and Tab and hushed little tid-bits I couldn't make out and I waited for a good long while (maybe 45-an-hour) and I was thinking how un-emotional all the artwork actually was and how they were just trying to make the REALLY dying people think of clouds and roads but it was so un-emotional and stale and I couldn't draw half-a-lick of any of it anyways but I still didn't like it and I checked my phone a couple of times and the Pitchfork website to see if there was any new album reviews or music updates to sing about but there weren't and finally the doctor came and called my name and I greeted him and said, " Hey, how ya doing?" and he said, "You beat me to the punch, i'm the doctor and you're the patient, i'm suppose to be asking YOU that question" and we went back through a couple right-angled halways and into his office and he asked me about my condition and made me take off my socks and shoes stuck me with a simple pin on my extremities and told me to use a balloon but besides that I was shit out of luck. He gave me some options and one was an electrical stimulation device that would cross my nerves possibly and make me wink when I smiled (I think they may just be good for me anyways, One simple wink with a smile. But EVERY time!? I don't know about that....) So he told me all this and I didn't feel any relief what-so-ever but still walked out with my chest puffed out (because one of the nurse-girls was very attractive) and she asked me if i'd like to make a follow-up appointment and I waived my had in dismissal but asked where the vending machines were even though I had absolutly no intention of visiting them and I took the elevator down from the 4th floor and it stopped on 3 and a woman and her son stepped in the car and he was in particularly bad shape and I didn't wish that I was any better but thanked whatever god that I didn't have that and got back in my car and finished the rest of that album I was excited to hear on NPR Music and was semi-satisfied but also aware of the 3 strike rule and that I would have to just live with it. Sometimes you are shit out of luck, sometimes there's no light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes it could be worse.