Long Marching

There was a lot of "weaselly fucker" mumbling in Atlanta when Delta canceled my connecting flight, offered me a  substitute flight out the next night, and wouldn't try to get me my suitcase. So a few hours in the Renaissance Hotel and a 7 am flight out the next day on a different airline didn't really help. And the first day walking around the hospital, teaching, was brutal with the foot pain. But yesterday I pulled out a big bag of pain control tricks; a huge increase in my night medicine, some anti-inflammatory gel I haven't used lately, and my TENS unit stuck to all the nerve pathways in the bad right leg. The big hospital I had to do was actually super nice and very manageable, and my feet never started the horrible screaming, crushed sensation. I'm going for another pool swim and hope today goes as well too; this is a big job in terms of daily hours over six days, but I really needed the money. Two down, four to go, c'mon pain relief strategies. I am thinking of getting hypnotized when I get home to help with the RSD pain; since the neuropathy has no cause, maybe I can block it.

Weasels and fuckers

Traveling to work these days is like having a weasel in your pocket; you can slap the pain down but it never really gives up. I got roped in to a hospital that "credentials" you through a horrible organization called RepTrax; basically they charge you $200 to tell you the minimum of information, then e-mail you back when the credentials you submit do not meet some esoteric standard; one you have no way of foreknowing. I gave them their damn money, then they start telling me, "Now send this. Now we will put off finishing these credentials, not in the two days you paid for, but two more days." Weaselly fuckers. Now after four phone calls, three sets of faxes, and a whole shitload of money for nothing; basically I just faxed them the crap I carry to the hospitals myself, they finally said they will have my account updated and ready for me to work Sunday. Fuckers better be right.
So then I traipse through the heartbreakingly stupid security theater that passes for TSA screening, get my shoes on for godsake; at least they let us wear our underpants still. Get locked back on the gates and the Shreveport airport has gone Coca-Cola free. As in, they only have Pepsi products in the machines and the one pitiful cooler. Fuckers keep you from have a damned Coke zero. How can they justify trapping people back here and not even having a Coke in a machine? Fuck Pepsi and its exclusive agreements. I'm already pissed and I haven't started my 68-hour workweek. I usually wait for the hell that is Atlanta Hartsfield airport before I start mumbling, "Weaselly fuckers." I'm already there. Weaselly fuckers.

Holy Mother

So I managed to start off this weekend's college graduation festivities by slicing an enormous hole into my left hand. It was a very sharp can pull-top that I grazed my left thumb with while assembling specialty food for the stuck-poop kitty we were leaving in charge of a catsitter. I had opened the skin more than half an inch wide and nearly as deep. It needed about three stitches.
I glued it shut with some skin glue a rep had demo'ed to us earlier in the week. Pretty cool stuff; made all the blood stop rolling down my arm. The next day, driving through Texas, I saw it had flaked off and the wound was trying to reopen; glued it again. Did that about three times and now it looks like it's healing: after hauling huge amounts of daughter's belongings down three flights of stairs. OoA#2 did most of that hauling.
Her grandparents showed up late to the graduation, where saving seats was not allowed. So one of them sat with me and my SO. Who knows where the others went. Her father was wearing a polo shirt, and her grandmother had evidently left her hearing aids at home. During the procession, we could not figure out why we couldn't see her marching with her class; I spotted her friends but could not find her anywhere. But she turned up walking across the stage. Turns out she fainted in the assembly line and was revived by campus security and then sneaked into her seat so she wouldn't faint again waiting until her turn to process, since she was fifteenth to last of  about 500 graduates. Damn alphabetical order. Then the grandparents wanted to take three pictures and leave instead of coming to lunch. Her grandfather, who had said he would use his big old huge auto to help her move, wanted to change and leave town and pay for her couch and boxes to be shipped home. As if we could have gotten them somewhere to ship them out; plus the nonsense of paying more for shipping than the worth of the items. He did deign to come back that afternoon and get them in a rush and set off for home.
And her grandmother made a huge point of giving her a necklace with a "family" diamond in it. She had told her it was pear-shaped, and it was round; no big deal, very pretty. But on the ride home, it was apparent in bright light that the diamond has a flaw in its center so large it appears cracked.
Outlaws. Texas is full of them.

Slam

So I went up and cleaned out my locker at my former job today. Spoke to a few people who were sad I couldn't stay on.
Last night I was all relaxed, not stressing, walking to my car, and got a strong premonition that the job I wanted to get here in town wasn't going to happen after all. Really strong. I fought it off the best I could, since the lady I interviewed with seemed to really want me and said she'd call Friday and tell me if she could work it out.
So it's time for her to leave work now, and....no call. Not yes or no, but limbo. Which is not promising. Now I have to do clinicals and jobhunt. With a high probability of having to travel or relocate.
I'm going to swim now and let myself be sad; I've already made two calls on other jobs and will just have to be an emailing fool for a few weeks. Still, it sucks.

The Sound of a Door Closing

I was denied accomodation at my place of employment. They told me I was on my own to get another job in the company that would let me work 8-hr days instead of the twelves I just can't do any more. I got one of the two interviews I requested; the lady just gave me a courtesy call to let me know she had a better match for the job, someone with specific experience to that office. So I'll be terminated at my present job on Friday.
Yesterday, I interviewed with a different company, and the boss was very nice and seemed anxious to solve the two internal problems to my hire, as I would be able to work without training and take over her supervisory role at another facility. I sure hope that is my window opening. She said she would let me know Friday.
There aren't any more openings in town for the specialty that I want, and chances are the place I just interviewed with would not hire a certified person over me, that they would go with a lower-cost person, so I couldn't go get the job a certified person left. I am going to have to travel or relocate if I don't get this job.
I feel oddly calm about all this. Somehow, I'm sure it's the right decision, and I will somehow get a job I can physically do and enjoy.
Here's hoping for the sound of a large window opening.

Kitty Butt Pirate

There are a lot of cats in my life. I have the two wild crazies, they rodeo all over my house and night and abuse the throw rugs. I've been helping house-sit a friend's neurotic tiny cat with the horriblest voice evah, she has a sweet nature but she sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West and she's super talky, plus has a tendency to chew off her fur. Object of Affection #2 has three cats that spend the night at his house plus a fourth that comes for meals. One of his housecats has small head syndrome; he has eaten so much that his body makes him look microcephalic. A couple of weeks ago he was making room-clearing farts. They matched his personality so we didn't think much of it until this week when he stopped eating. The vet found that he was literally full of shit; he ate so many mice and fibery things like them that his poop got too big for his pelvic girdle and his colon was impacted its entire length. She sedated him and removed as much as she could reach, and the stench made her clinic air bad enough to burn out all your nose hair.
 I had to take him back in today because his new diet wasn't helping him pass the remaining impaction. I helped her hold him and manipulate his belly while she bravely dug and enemaed and flushed and dug some ridiculously large and hard poop out of him. The sedation didn't put him all the way out, and he started growling faintly, so they had to give him anesthesia gas. After it was all done, and he only had 1/3 of the original blockage left, too high to reach, the tech and I were cleaning him up. She asked the kitty a rhetorical question and I did a voice like I was him and said, "I went to PRISON...I don't know what I did but I went to PRISON." Another client had brought her sick kitty back and the vet and tech and I burst out laughing; the client was obviously shocked that I was so heartless, making fun of kitty butt reaming. My humor is not for everyone.