This morning I had an appt w/my cardiologist to see if my heart can withstand a kidney transplant. I wanted to take a photo of my doctor for my blog but he wouldn't let me. "My picture is on the Internet," he said. "But I wanna take it myself," I said holding up my camera. He shook his head no.
As a consolation I went back in the exam room and shot this horrid picture of some sterile instruments.
And then, still seething w/disapptment, I photographed the hideous parking lot below
Fortunately the human organism is resilient (the new buzz word, for about 3 yrs) so I came back to life and asked the doctor if I have to see him again.
No, he said.
The service I got from Einstein Hospital was so poor that you can only wonder -- and wonder you must -- what would happen if I get a kidney transplant from these people.
My cardiologist complained to me that his department's medical charts were all scattered. I had assiduously forwarded all records to his office and they weren't in my chart. He had to go fetch them manually.
I wanted to photograf him -- b/c of his commanding presence. Possibly he is the strangest looking doctor I've ever had. Unforgettable. Darn, I wanted to photograf him soooo bad.
Yet, I would have married him had he proposed. And our children would have been darling, the little future doctors n scientists, coo-chee coo-chee coo!
I married my dead husband for his brains first and his looks second. I forgot to check for his personality and tender qualities.
The cardiologist said my heart was in great shape. And you know what? If, god forbid, I'd ever need a heart doctor I'd go back to him and that depressing office at Einstein where people hobble in, doubled over from not exercising, for sitting in their office chairs at 10:12 p.m. blogging inane stuff instead of exercising their vital limbs and neck and eyebrows.
Oh! How could I forget. I had two poems published in the Tookany Review. I sent Bill Kulik the requested five and he chose two: Shaker Furniture and Bach or Faure.
I sent the link to a million people I was so prouda the poems -- they're quite good -- I haven't written a really good poem in five years -- unfortunately true -- and I even posted it on Facebook.
On Facebook there are leaders and there are followers. Followers stay mute but read what other people write. Followers suck. Yours truly is a follower. My dtr/law Nicole is a leader. She writes something and a million people applaud by sending out little signals.
I decided to unmute myself and sent three messages today as a leader. I did it unselfconsciously, just to see if I'd pass out and fall on the floor. Nuffin happened.
Will I do it again? I'm betting I will not. Why? I don't wanna be a sheep on Facebook doing what everyone else does. I'm too weird. You'll like these poems. For some reason, Kulik didn't post our bios. People think I'm selfless and a helpful person. Au contraire. I did not even peek at the other poets poems. I couldn't give a FF about what they wrote. All I care about is that Kulik published my two. Click on my name on the Left.
On the way home from the cardio's, I stopped at mom's to give her the above cucumber I cut off the vine. It's not quite big enuf but I wanted her to make her famous sweet n sour cucumbers with vinegar. Dyou believe I didn't tell her -- or my sister -- that I just came from a doctor's appt? At her age, all she talks about is body parts.
One of the folks I mailed my poems to is Rod Crawford who works at a Spider Museum at University of Washington in Seattle. He sent me his updated website -- which I commend you to -- we all have intense relationships with spiders -- click right her.
I met Rod years ago when I emailed him a spider question.
In fact, I just emailed Rod a question: "Should I feel guilty when I kill spiders in my downstairs bathroom? Is there a little prayer I should say when I kill them, or, more accurately, put them outdoors."
He wrote back, Why kill them, they're so helpful! Plus, indoor spiders live indoors while outdoor spiders like the outdoors. In fact, here's a poem I wrote about outdoor spiders.
THE CLAN OF SPIDERS
The early morning
boy and dog
step lightly through the dawn
breaking through the quiet clatter of webs
wrought through the starless night:
lace curtains - feathery fences
they shine with dew
only to be
by the clan of spiders
when darkness comes.