Just as I was enjoying my afternoon at work yesterday I got another call from Bill at home. He'd already called me to 1) see if I was going to go out for lunch, 2) to tell me that his stuffed bellpeppers that he had for his lunch tasted good, and 3) to tell me that he was going to lay down for a nap in case I called him. (why would I? he's already calling me pretty much on the hour) So it was no great surprise to see his name pop up on caller ID.
It was about ten after 4 pm, so there wasn't much day left and I had been hoping to get an hour of web cruising in. Apparently when he called the doctor's office (per their silly request) he worked them up into a frenzy by telling them he wasn't passing enough fluids. That was one of the concerns of his proceedure. So he starts telling me how awful the nurse is, and how now he needed to go to the doctor immediately and last but not least, that he's taken a dose of his vicodin. (though from his attitude you wouldn't know it)
He's legally drunk in california and not able to drive. So ............ he needs a ride and can I leave work immediately and take him back to the doctor's office? I wanted to cry. I was having actual fun and didn't want to go home yet. But, I like sleeping at night because I know I've done the right thing so I tell my boss I have to leave and go rushing home.
He's printing pee charts and schedules out when I get there. He's got a container, covered with wrap, that looks suspiciously like pee. He's (dare I say) kinda happy about all the hubbub and attention. I suspect again that as a child all the attention he ever got was when he was in trouble.
I stuff him into my little Kia, pill bottles, "flow" charts and Cup of Pee and all. On the drive to the doctors office he's going on and on about how much he hates the nurse and how he thinks his kidneys might be the "real" problem. At this point I hate him so much I'd give him one of my kidneys just to shut him up. Apparently he's spent his afternoon on the internet doing "medical research" and he's an expert now. Instead I suggest that he ask the doctor to have another of his nurses work his case.
We trudge into the office building, carrying pill bottles, his pee reports and the pee cup. A new nurse comes and gets him, I'm trailing along. The old nurse is hiding in her cubicle snickering at the newest victim. They do an ultra sound and it looks good. His Cup of Pee is sitting on the counter grossing me out.
The doctor comes in and they sit down to discuss this "problem". Apparently the problem is located about 2 inches above his nose and directly behind his eyeballs. The doctor, after reviewing the ultra sound, tells him everything is fine. Yes, he's not exactly normal, but he just had surgery yesterday and his whole system is still kind of recovering from the shock. Bill, of course, is not willing to accept the opinion of a highly educated and respected doctor so he argues for awhile.
I feel sorry for the doctor, but he's on his own. I'm not getting in the middle of this conversation to save my life. Eventually Bill hears whatever magical words it is he wanted to hear and we can go home. As he dresses and collects his stuff he grabs the pee on the counter. I suggest he leave it there, since we can make more at home, but he's become "attached" to it.
As we're walking back to the car I notice something about the Cup of Pee that I hadn't noticed before. There, anchoring the plastic wrap, is one of my hair elastics!!! A girl can tolerate only so much, so I tell him that he owes me a new hair elastic. Being the asshole that he is he says it's no big deal and he's not going to replace it. Of all the things to fight over!!!!
I know where he keeps his toothbrush and the toilet could use a cleaning this weekend.........
