They’re still working on getting me an appointment at the Stroke Management Clinic.  Which is fine.  Referrals can vary for time periods. 

Sometimes you have to appear sick by the Doctors, sometimes healthy by them, maybe be their best friend, or kiss lots of nurses in the “Paperwork Closet.”

Or just get lucky.  Apart from any Paperwork Closet Activity.

When I called yesterday, it turned out the paperwork hadn’t been sent.  This, from the (third now) hotel, the Ambulances have always chauffeured me to, and upon arrival, with great aplomb.  The Orderlies should be playing, “Pomp and Circumstance” EVERY time.

So the Stroking, I mean Striking Woman gave me the exact number to call at the other hotel, to have my Paperwork (Closeted or Otherwise) sent over to their hotel. 

Closeted or not Closeted?! Have we not moved past the Stone Age and given all of these people their Rights and Freedoms! Ho! Oh, Ho! Ho!

Is this sounding like a bad Monty Python Sketch yet? I’m doing my best.

The Paperwork was sent but it was basically end of day.  So, call back today.  I thought the Striking Woman would just give me an appointment as typically, all Medical Administration Assistants do.  But I received a nasty surprise.

“Okay, PA…I’ll put you through to Triage now…”  Click.

Okay.  Yes, when you are chauffeured to hotels you go through ER Triage.  Who is about to die? Who has cut their finger? Although, children are Triaged quite quickly and with great care.

Look up the word: IATROPHOBIA.

Never did I expect to be transferred to a person over the phone, to discuss my problems in any “Triage Manner.”  If ANYTHING, I thought they would Triage appointments based upon Doctor Reporting from the patient, the full examination, all workups, tests.

And boy did I have a FULL Neurological Exam! Things were done to me a million miles beyond so many basic ones I can do in my sleep!

At one point, he was testing my leg joints, mobility in different ways, and other reflexology–not just the “sit and tap the knee.”  Wait.  He did do that apart from all the others.  I just wasn’t sitting.

My legs were up in the air.  And there was no need for a woman in the room! I had my pants on.  But at one point, it was like a combination of two gentle forms of Shiatsu and Swedish.

ASIDE: I am addicted to Shiatsu.

The strangest Neurological question he asked, was the most bizarre I’ve ever heard.  Probably will remain so.

“If you comb or brush your hair, does it ever hurt? On one side of your head? Both? Nothing?”

Holy All the Elephants in Africa Pause! “Erm…maybe my right.  Yes, when it’s tangled? Yeah, my right.”

WHOA! HOLY MEMORY! I screamed like hell having my hair brushed and combed as a kid! What on earth does that mean?

Anyway, what does the title of this mean? I started to drift off into TIA Land on the phone with the Triage Guy.

God, we were almost coming to blows.  I have to warn EVERYONE new I talk to that I don’t mean to sound like a “Professional Patient.”  I’ve studied Medicine.  I was going to pursue a Career in Medicine.  It’s just that sometimes life doesn’t always go as planned.

I also said I was unprepared! I had to make a list of so many things! So much happens (in the back of my mind to argue against your pseudo-points!)

So, fine.  Conversation ending, then WHAM! I said right now, happening, told him what was going on.  Speech starting to slur, rambling, needed dark glasses immediately!

He said he’d let me go and rest.

But what timing. *sighs*

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