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Friday, July 30, 2004

Call me Howard Hughes

Guilty as charged.

Spent the morning at the hospital over in Fort Lauderdale. Oh, don't worry, nothing serious, just that mammogram I mentioned a few days ago. Sat for an hour waiting while I alternately held my breath and breathed down the front of my shirt, using it as a mask, because: a) too many contagious, bio-hazardous looking people around for my sanity; b) one of them exhaling the nausea-inducing smell of rotten teeth; and, c) I was hoping a little auto-asphyxiated unconsciousness would spare me another single second of watching Regis and Kelly blasting away on the waiting room television. Because, silly me, I had left my books in the car, I had nothing else to occupy my mind other than concentrating on which knuckle I'd used to call the elevator, for fear I might accidentally rub my eyes or otherwise touch my face with it.

When you have no health insurance and are forced to use the county's low cost medical services, you get what you pay for.

I was sent to find the Cashier's cubicle to pay for the procedure and nearly got lost. What saved me was that fortunately, the Cashier was located right near the McDonald's, which was more clearly marked than either the Cashier or the Emergency room. (McDonald's and hospitals, cause and effect?)

Afterward, back in my car, out came the hand sanitizer. Ah, much better.

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