High Anxiety! Jacking! Sharing! SW-II/IV

Sunday night I woke up and could tell the prostate infection was still bothering me. Not surprising since it's difficult for antibiotics to penetrate the area. As soon as I got to work, I called and made a doctor's appointment and was lucky enough to get one during lunch.

There are two clinics that I visit. Each is run by one of a pair of bothers, who at one point shared a clinic together. One brother is golden-hued with deep blue eyes and reminds me of Lucas Ridgeston. When I first met him, I gawked; and I'm sure, he thought I was an idiot. The other is older, taller and looks like Tom Selleck. He also ranks high on my gawkability scale.

However, apparently brotherhood did not make for a good business arrangement. The older brother left the firm and soon set up his own clinic. After a couple of years, the younger brother became part of a hospital-related clinic with two other physicians.

From what I'm able to tell, the feud still exists. Oddly enough, I've had each confide in me about the shortcomings of the other. Alas, I've not noticed any lessening of the rancor.

So now one brother IS a member of my insurance network BUT DOESN'T TAKE appointments. The other brother IS NOT part of my insurance plan, but DOES TAKE appointments. When I last tried to get it at the first clinic, there would have been a wait of 3+ hours. But then the insurance deductible for those NOT IN the plan IS TWICE that for those IN the plan. And the co-payment percentages are different. What a fucking pain!!!

Off I go, confident in the fact that I have an appointment. Little did I know. Apparently everybody else had an appointment too, for there was a ----long---- backlog of patients. Some time around 2:30, I was called back. He quickly agreed I needed another round of antibiotics for the prostate infection.

Then he asked how I was doing with my antidepressant - celexa. (Some quick background. He was the first person to recognize my need for an antidepressant and started me on Prozac.) I mentioned that once I'd started an antidepressant, I began to recognize many episodes of depression from my past. And that it had taken me several years to realize how it effected me now. I told him, by no means, did I feel free of depression, but that I thought it was manageable.

I went on to say that my problem for the last couple of years was anxiety. And that this may have been so commingled with the depression, that I was not aware of it as a separate entity. For example, I can remember many, many times when the most mundane situation would fill me with panic. And I still experience that feeling of flight. We talked some more, and he indicated he wanted me to try buspirone which works well in these situations.

In thinking about this, it may be that I've been deluding myself. By taking an antidepressant, I thought I was cured. But in reality, I wan only dealing with a single problem. And that other sinister forces were afoot. Well, I'm certainly curious to see how this new treatment works.

I detached the jack, or what looked like a jack, placed it on the pavement, positioned it under the frame, and then froze. Where was the wrench? Then I recognized that it had to be separated from the jack. And within minutes, I was jacking away. It was even fairly easy to get the lugs off. I could not believe it, I was finished in under fifteen minutes!

Before I got the Saturn, I had an '84 Nova which essentially a Nova made in the US. A great car, that served me well for many miles. BUT it had the world's worst jack! A device that was surely created by some evil genie. A horrible, clumsy, inept piece of equipment. Whenever I had to use it, I'd crawl away with rips in my clothes, cuts on my hands, scrapes on my arms looking like a defrocked chimney-sweep.

I still think the best part of SW-II was that on the storm planet. But then I'm a sucker for rain and wind.

PAX!