Referrals

I had my appointment with the infamous Dr. Earle today.  I have a good 6th period class and left in a wave of warm "Aurevoir!  Aurevoir!"s  I was a freaking rock star walking out to the parking lot.  The whole way to my appointment, I practiced using my big girl words and not my construction worker words.  I wanted to have an app that drowned out all of the annoying people in the waiting room, but there's not one available in iTunes yet (patten pending.)  I also practiced choosing my attitude, so that I didn't go in there giving off waves of pissed the fuck off.  I answered the tech's medical questions, calmly and with only the barest tint of sarcasm.  My conversation with Dr. Earle started with her saying, "You know it wasn't me that said you can't go to the neurosurgeon, it was Choice Medical, they said you had to come see us."  I explained why that was not exactly true and she looked at her notes, where it was indeed written "Advise Bethany she cannot have a referral to the neurosurgeon."  In any case, my attempts to not put out pissed the fuck off vibes and I don't have a gun vibes must not have been successful because Dr. Earle left the room and the next thing I knew the tech was standing in the room taking notes; presumably in case I got crazy and tried to fuck some people up at the speed of a turtle.  She said it didn't make sense why I would want to go to physical therapy six months after my surgery.  I said, yes, but I requested this months ago (and, I didn't add, I've been waiting for you fucking douchebags to get your thumbs out of your asses and approve it.)  After a lot of blah blah blah and me stating my case why I should be granted the privilege to go to physical therapy for two times so they can show me exercises to do and exercises not to do since I have two titanium rods in my back, Dr. Earle acquiesced that that was a reasonable request and she would submit it, but she was doubtful that it would be approved by Choice Medical.

I didn't get to see Max because he was with his parents.  Parents schmarents.  That guy should be available for play whenever I want.

In other earth shattering news, the Big Guy reported that he and my mother spent some quality time rethinking their Christmas Present 2011 Policy, which up until today had been, "If you're name is not Max, no presents for you."  He also reported that they already purchased my present (yes, singular) and he was happy to report that "Max is going to enjoy it very much."  Based on this description, I am fairly certain I'm not getting a set of Wüstof knives.