Their pathway to care:
My pathway to care:
My halo slipped and it was choking me, so I gave up and cracked the Zinfandel that the lovely folks at Kangarilla Road sent me for my birthday. I went to boxing tonight. I went well, apart from running weird, a little like Roy Rogers. So I’d earned a glass of post -boxing- pre- trigger injection red to calm my 11:20pm trigger injection nerves. Hub-in-boots was shocked at my wanton abandon.
“Wine?” he says aghast, “How long since we’ve had wine?”.
I had my scan today, 7 follicles on left, 16 on right, no wonder I’m walking like a cowboy. I’ve only had minimal discomfort this round. Later on the clinic stuffed me around again (majorly) and did not call until 6pm with trigger time and operation time, and only AFTER I’d made two panicky “are you gonna call aren’t you about to close?” phone calls. Dills. And they are also stuffing us around about the availability of onsite collection rooms Friday, versus a b.y.o. hub-in-boots sample. (As monty python would say “where’s the foetus gonna gestate? You gonna keep it in a box?”). Geez. We’re paying you $3000. The least you could do is a decent porn a bar fridge and a lounge chair for the poor bloke. I put my foot down. The last thing I want is trying to get ready to head out for the operation and have him with performance anxiety in the lounge room when it’s time to leave. Not. Going. To. Happen.
Woo hoo! Trigger done. No spillages, no stuff ups. Have to say the glass of wine helped. For me, I was remarkably coordinated. All 10 steps were smoooooooooth.
Well it’s almost time for me to saddle up and head out for the show down at the OK Corral (aka day surgery). I’ve pulled the trigger on my trusty pistol and the bullet’s hit home. A couple more shots on Friday and it’s lights out for me, followed by a mosey on down to the couch and a dvd marathon. And gunslinger hub-in-boots is all ready to rumble. We’re just working on him coming out with his fly done up this time. Giddee up.