Most of the time, Michael and I do not consider ourselves to be completely gaga. Mildly, maybe. Total insanity - not quite yet. However, this assumption was put to the test earlier this week. Monday was a blissful and quiet day at home, no stress, no structure, nirvana after a very busy weekend. We took every advantage of the relaxation as we were facing an early start to the Big Smoke on Tuesday. Michael had another rendezvous with the radiographer, followed by a review with the Boy Wonder of his hand and wrist.
Amazingly, we were out of Station House by eight-thirty. Both of us had woken with a dose of Failure to Launch. I had needed a very long soak in the shower to become somewhat compos mentis. Michael, concerned that his brain left the building, had checked and double-checked which documents he needed to take - the X-ray referral was top of that list. Supposedly armed with all we needed, we were suitably smug as we arrived at the Perth medical centre a tad early. That was the high point of the day.
As I was exiting the car after parking, Michael informed me of a slight issue of concern. He couldn't find his referral. He was sure he had it, somewhere. So we proceeded to look, everywhere. In the car, in my bag, in his pockets. Under the car. No joy. Not a major problem. We were due to see the surgeon Ben Kimberley later in the morning so we were confident we could secure another referral for the pesky X-ray.
That was when the trouble began. The radiology clinic rang Ben's rooms upstairs to source another referral. Ben was not there. Michael then conceded he had not checked every nook and cranny inside the car, so I sent him off with a flea in his ear to properly survey that interior. I travelled two floors upstairs to work out what the hell was going on.
Ben's rooms were empty, except for faithful staffer Anne. I was more than a little unnerved. Confused, Anne explained that Ben was not there. And that she had rung Michael three weeks previously to change the appointment to the following day. The penny dropped. Michael had forgotten to tell me or write down the new appointment, so we had just wasted half a tank of fuel and nearly four hours of travel time for no reason. As a result, we would have to repeat the trip on the following day.
I was livid with disbelief. In my best school ma'am voice, I interrogated Michael about the changed appointment. His face firstly registered blankness, followed by a dawning horror at the awfulness of the situation. He admitted to some faint recollection of a phone call, which he'd promptly delegated to his other ear on its way to the Fifth Dimension.
Naturally, I couldn't stay angry with Michael for very long. Misery was written all over his person. After a fortification of lunch, we decided to organise some brass plaques for Michael's sculptures from a company he hadn't visited for nearly twenty years. Shannon, the proprietor, remembered Michael after a bit of a jog of his memory. They spent a much more cheerful half an hour catching up on the preceding years.
And so we repeated the process all over again yesterday. Off to the Big Smoke. The X-rays were delivered without a hitch. The Boy Wonder, running late, was cautiously pleased with Michael's progress, but still recommended a CATscan to check the murky depths of his wrist.
We stopped at the Midland radiologists to book Michael's CATscan. I was delighted to give them the referral, so Michael couldn't misplace that document. On returning home, we tossed up the choices of taking the dogs for a walk or retiring for an afternoon nap.
Our bed won the contest. And Michael has not been able to find the original referral. I think it has just vanished into Cloud Cuckoo Land along with all those odd socks and random Tupperware lids.
Until next time...
No comments:
Post a Comment