Random bits and pieces in Packrat

Dr. Doom made me cry again yesterday; the last time he saw me he brought me to tears but I held them back. This time I couldn’t. My feet are tender, always have been, and I said so the first time I met him, but his is not a tender touch. He apologized for hurting me and admitted that most of his patients’ feet are numb.

He asked me again why I came to work and if I could get off work. Aghast, I told him I spent months waiting to get back to work!

He commented to the nurse in attendance that I might need a bigger boot because I’m “just not going to stay off (the foot)” - why would I when Dr. C, who saved it and has seen all its changes for the better, said I can walk on and drive with it? I didn’t get out of my wheelchair until Dr. C said I could. I didn’t drive or come to work until Dr. C said I could. I keep it elevated; I’m not doing walking marathons. I’m not running around barefoot or getting my foot wet. I see the nurses regularly, take my meds, and even Dr. Doom is satisfied with my progress when not calling my still-not-quite-but-almost-healed wound “the problem”.

I may be repeating myself here, but one of my co-workers opined that Dr. C represents the new thought in doctoring and Dr. Doom the old; I see that in other doctors here as well. What I learned about my care in the hospital differs from what used to be the norm, what is still the norm for the ones who work here. Dr. Doom and my doctor at the clinic aren’t even old men, just engaged in what my mom used to call “old guard thinking”.

Baby. Still nothing known, case still pending. However, everyone assures us that the truth will come out.

S seems to have faulty wiring in his brain. Besides his adverse response to those in the hospital he had made his former assistant’s life hell. He goes on tirades, she said; staff quit or want to quit because of him. She planned to retire before her accident, but he asked her to stay, and then she ended up in the hospital; prior to that he had been turning her in to the office administrator for being away from the office too much (planning to be retired, she had already made plans; he approved her time away), for not filing (although all files were up to date and ready to be filed away but for his wanting to go through all of them), and for working with other attorneys (all in the same firm and she helped out only when she had nothing to do).

She said he had been married at one time but that the marriage lasted less than a year. I can’t imagine that and wonder what she was like. I never saw any of this behavior because while we talked or texted often we didn’t spend that much time alone together and most of our time together was out in public. That’s what appealed to me at first; I get cranky and mean if someone is around ALL.THE.TIME.

My only regret is that I loaned him one of my favorite books, and I want it back.

Cars. Coyote Younger Brother has a new car. HIs finally died. I saw his new car last night, and this morning as I enjoyed my drive in to work (when my car runs well I love to drive, plus I get to see the green trees, pastures, ponds, horses, dogs, and cows along the way) I thought about my cars and my habit of naming them.

The car I drove to school belonged to the family and was a green station wagon that we called “the pickle”. It had taken us to rodeos, roller skating parties, and, when I inherited it, Little Brother and his friends/teammates to football or drama play practice.

The first car that was truly all my own was “Standy”, acquired when I was 19. Her name derived from her being a standard and also the name combined mine with that of the man I loved. The Coyote taught me to drive it, and he was the only one I ever allowed to drive it. Standy allowed me to explore my college town and took me to see my first Triumph concert. Only Triumph tapes (and one by Foreigner) played in my car, which also always had my little black poodle in it with me.

Sadly, she was really more trouble than she was worth. I later found her model was the problem child for Chevrolet (a Monza), plus that was my only used car. My mother drove a Honda and my brother a Toyota; combined they didn’t have as many problems as I did so I decided that my next car would be one of those.

And it was. “Old Blue” was a blue Toyota Tercel, also a standard. I called it my pow wow pony since it was the one that took me all over for pow wows and also served as a dressing room when I got ready for dancing. Old Blue transported the remains of one of my cousins. My little black poodle was my first passenger, along with two other dogs. Old Blue also took me to a Triumph concert, football games, and one or two U2 concerts.

Old Blue died of old age. Next came “Charlie”, a 2007 Hyundai Accent. Also a standard. His name is Charlie because I already picked a charcoal color, which then wasn’t available, so even though the car is silver I kept the name Charlie. That seemed appropriate to me, since one of my favorite books is Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck and Charlie has taken me on many trips, including a U2 concert - and could have taken me to see Triumph if an out of state relative hadn’t been coming here at the same time to see an exhibit I worked on.

Charlie has been a jack of all trades - a pow wow pony, a work horse (hauling groceries in bulk for ceremonies, bales of straw, furniture, passengers and their commodities, my walkers). No one says “There’s Eriu’s car”, they say “Hey, there’s Charlie”. On one birthday I said no presents, so the gifts that did come were for Charlie.

Charlie is like the Energizer Bunny and keeps going and going. Most repairs have been simply the replacement of old parts for new. None so expensive that I couldn’t pay out of my paycheck. Charlie waits faithfully outside the door for me right now, his presence announcing that I’m still here (after hours); my uncle stopped in because he saw Charlie. Triumph and U2 still play from the speakers. My nephew said Charlie looks like an egg - well, Charlie is a good egg!