I am not you. Or you. Or even you. I am me. And, I'm used to being me. I kinda like me. You should like me too. I would like you if you asked me. Well, maybe.
I finally figured out how to take a picture of the mysterious roaming rash that has no known rhyme or reason to any aspect of it… that I can find, anyhow.
Wanna see? Its not gross. Its just a bumpy rash. Which itches like absolute hell if I don’t notice it immediately and douse it with triamcinolone acetonide cream (whatever the heck that stuff is!!).
Anyhow - if you remember a couple posts back, the nurse practitioner I see asked me to try taking a photo of the rash so she could see it when its inflamed, or whatever it is. Of course, I finally get the photo on a weekend.
Oh well. I’ll see about stopping by the office on Monday. Hopefully there will be no charge to show her a picture! Maybe I’ll call and see if I can email it… sending an email shouldn’t cost any money, right?!
When you go to the doctor because you have an intermittent rash that occurs in random locations on your body, it goes without saying that the rash will not be present at the time of your visit.
Then you must attempt to figure out how to describe the mysterious rash, which… if you knew how to describe it in great detail, you could of told the nurse over the phone the description and saved yourself the $100 bill for coming into the office.
After I suggested I take a picture of it the next time it pops up, of course it would show up on my right hand… making picture taking relatively impossible, since I’m right handed.
Cameras are not made for left-handed-only people, FYI.
I was prescribed a extra strength cortisone (I think) creme for the rash until I can photograph said rash and show the doctor exactly what it looks like.
Oh, and, of course, I didn’t go pick up the creme tonight.
So, of course, I am continuing to scar myself because the rash itches like craaaaaazy and I have no willpower when it comes to not scratching it.
I’d take a picture to show you, but most of the visible ‘damage’ is on my right hand.
I realize when the power goes out at three in the morning that its an inconvenience for most people.
Rarely have I heard someone genuinely cheer when they hear the thunder crack overhead followed by an extreme silence. You know that silence… the one where you don’t even hear any white noise of the refrigerator humming? Yeah, that one.
The darkness is so extreme that you can’t even see your hand in front of your face since the familiar glow of the digital alarm clock is gone.
Of course, its not until that very moment that you wonder where in the world the flashlights are kept. Which is quickly followed with a silent plea that you remembered to install fresh batteries in the hidden flashlights.
A quick stub of the toe reminds you where the door frame is, and the poor attempts at swinging your arms side to side to avoid that one other object … that you know is there … somewhere. OUCH! Yup. There it is.
Then, after finally feeling through the junk drawer that is overflowing with … junk … and the flashlights are found, you momentarily pat yourself on the back that the batteries are actually good.
What do you do then to regroup? Call the power company? Set the alarm on your cellphone that you hopefully already charged? And then, you wait… and wait. Maybe you go to sleep?
We, on the other hand, must come to an executive decision.
Finally, the propane company that made the mistake of delivering me all that glorious propane and I came to an agreement regarding which path to travel to correct the error.
I had called them shortly after Fowler Fest ‘08 and explained that I nearly had enough money saved to pay off the unexpected bill. They had said they were extremely busy, due to an unexpected cold snap, with people running out of propane and they would contact me again soon.
Nearly a week and a half passed before my phone rang on Election Day showing their number on the caller ID. I was about to believe they had forgotten about me with all their chaos, and I had slipped under the radar with some free propane. Of course, I knew it was too good to be true. But, I had to hope!
Anyhow, after offering up the billed amount to be paid in full, the company agreed to allow me to keep the propane. But, since I was technically a new customer, they legally had to do a leak test and check the quality and age of the connections on the tank and into my house. This process should have some fee, but it was explained to me that the company would eat the cost since this was their mistake.
