Aside from the fabulous new stretching pain I experience anytime I get out of bed (hang in there little cerclage!!!), I have received yet another piece of evidence from the outside world that, after almost 12 weeks in bed, I am no longer fit to interact with other human beings.
On Thursday, after Sugar School, husband dropped prescriptions off at the pharmacy for my handy little blood test strips and stabbing devices ("lancets" is one of my least favorite words, for no apparent reason--besides, it's not nearly as dramatic as "stabbing devices"). They were out of them; they said they'd order them. Come back on Friday. No biggie. How easily we put our faith into any yahoo wearing a white lab coat and standing behind a counter we have to stand on our tippie toes to see over.
Fast forward to this morning. Husband goes to look at cribs in a galaxy far, far away (there are no cribs to peruse in our bedroom and anything outside of that realm qualifies as inter-galactic, as far as I am concerned, at this point). He calls to ask me to check on the prescription for the aforementioned test strips and stabby things. He is an efficient man, husband is, and he doesn't want to waste a trip to the pharmacy if it's not ready. I, on the other hand, waste hours of my life on the "let's wait and see" approach and end up standing in long lines or returning at a later time, just to avoid making a phone call. Yes, I am perhaps one of only a handful of women worldwide who would really just prefer to never have to speak on the phone.
The pharmacist answers the phone at the precise moment she is yelling at another customer that she'll "just have to wait. I am here all alone today!!!" I know already this is not going to be my most pleasant conversation of the day. I ask about my prescription. I give my name---several times. I have to clarify that I am SARAH S., not VIRGINIA S more times than I think one should have to. The pharmacist is a mumbler...that makes me nervous.
No, the prescription's not ready. No, they don't have either the strips or the stabby things on hand. She doesn't know why the man behind the counter in the white lab coat on Thursday said they would have it. They don't even have a record of my prescription... Then she yells at another customer.
Here's where I realize I am no longer fit for human interaction. I went OFF of her. It was like I stepped outside of myself, and the nice, gentle, non-confrontation Sarah watched this new, possessed, must-test-my-blood-in-three-hours-and-you-lost-my-prescription Sarah rip the pharmacist a new one...."How do you lose a prescription??? What am I supposed to do now? I have to test my blood sugar levels in 3 hours! How am I going to do that??? HOW do you lose a prescription??!!!" It felt goooooooooood.
But it didn't get me any test strips or stabby things.
Now on top of all the other shortcomings I am faced with in life---I have an incompetent pharmacist....
Eventually we hung up, after she promised to keep searching for it. WHATEVER!!! Like I'd accept her test strips, etc. now. After the way I verbally accosted her, I wouldn't be surprised if she opened the boxes and sneezed all over them...
Solution to problem--make a Saturday "emergency" phone call to my doctor's answering service and ever-so-sweetly request a new prescription to be called into a new pharmacy.
Then cut off all contact with the outside world for at least 24 hours.