Archive | August, 2012
On my way downtown this morning, my car was struck by (I’m sure you’ll all appreciate the irony) a Comcast truck at Rittenhouse Square. Of course, the guy jumps out of the car and starts yelling at me that I hit him. “No dice, pal. I was in my lane and you hit me,” I said. I pointed to the white paint marks on the very last part of my rear fender.
“Oh yeah? I have paint on my car, too!” he says. “I was trying not to hit that guy who had his head hanging out of his car…”
“And you didn’t see me because you were distracted,” I said. But as I bend down and rub the damage, I see that it’s all paint and I can take care of it with a little rubbing compound. So I tell him to drive more carefully, and get back in the car.
I end up in the emergency room of the hospital where my doctor has privileges. I have to say, it was a pit. And the parking lot was two blocks away from the ER, on the other side of the midtown expressway. I had to limp my way there.
I wasn’t real happy. First of all, they have the acutely ill people in the same room; one woman said she’d had the flu for three days and was hacking up a storm. Second, they didn’t seem to think that checking me for a blood clot was much of a priority, so why should I? After waiting four hours, I took off the hospital wristband and gave it back to the registration clerk, telling her to tear up my paperwork because I was leaving.
I limped back to the parking lot, got in my car and drove back to the same hospital where I had my surgery. When I got there, there were about 30 people in the emergency room, so I got back in my car and came home. I’m pretty sure it was the acupuncture; I don’t have any of the usual blood clot signs like swelling, hot spots on my skin or discoloration. It just feels like my foot fell asleep and hasn’t woken up yet, and it hurts when I walk.
Back when they were still the Chicago Transit Authority, one of my high school friends was their groupie and flew around the country on the weekends. Ah, the 60s! Chicago: