#Argued with my rheumatologist for an hour

[inconceptual-nonsense]

Today has been unequivocally awful. Will be listening to podcasts on my drive home to cope.

[deuteragonists-mismatched-socks]

Living Mirage - Gregory House x Amputee!Reader

Warnings: Amputee reader, possible medical inaccuracy, angst, arguing, House being House, I'm not an amputee so unfortunately I can't accurately convey the experience, symptoms of heart attack described briefly

Word count: 1.5 k

"Why do you choose not to feel anything?" The question is abrupt, out of place, as you open the door to his darkened office. You should be at home right now. Instead of driving, you've spent the last half hour chewing on a hangnail in the break room and thinking. That was always dangerous.

House looks at you quizzically, feet balanced on the desk and magic 8 ball in his hands.

You expect some sort of pithy remark that deflects the question and brings it all back down on your head. You don't care. You didn't ask the question just to be cute.

Instead, he just shakes the ball, eyes locked on the result as he answers. "I'm in pain," he says, which is obvious. "Given the option, most people would choose not to feel that."

You shake your head. You're a rheumatologist, you're no stranger to people in pain. "You're not most people," you argue, starting with a point you knew he couldn't disagree with. "And that's not what I meant."

He gives you a look that says, 'get on with it or get out.'

You take a deep breath. "I meant you run away," you say, and for some stupid reason the words sound small. You can already see him sneering and calling you pathetic.

You had some big speech and some well thought out argument all fleshed out in your head. But just like every discussion you've had with a boyfriend, every fight you've had with your mom, it flies out of your head the moment you open your mouth.

"Every time you get close to feeling something that isn't euphoria or misery, you shut down. You pop another pill. You get high."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Did Wilson recruit you?"

"Believe it or not, there are people beyond Wilson who are capable of caring about you," you say before you can think it through. You fidget with your fake hand—it's starting to feel heavy, and if you had thought of it, you would have taken it off before you came in here.

He levels you with another look. "Well, quit it," he demands; there isn't much fire to be had in the statement. "I already have Cameron's pity, and that's plenty."

"This isn't pity," you correct him. "It's concern. House, like it or not, we've worked together a while. People tend to… Develop attachments in that sort of situation. I've come to see you as a friend. Friends worry about each other."

"I don't worry about you," he shoots back, raised eyebrows challenging your perceptions—trying to hurt your feelings, trying to push you away.

"You're doing it again," you say, your voice becoming less confrontational.

He rolls his head to the side dramatically, rising from his chair. He doesn't reach for his cane. He just stands there. "What? What am I doing?"

He's irritated.

"You're trying to piss me off so I leave and you can wallow," you explain calmly, and you can tell by the flicker in his blue eyes that he knows you're right. "So you can feel guilty instead of reflecting."

"And you're, what? Altruistically trying to help someone who so desperately needs it but won't ask because they're embarrassed? What's in it for you? Am I gonna run into your arms for comfort and understanding?" He spits.

You fold your eyebrows at him. You want to tell him that yes, you will be there for him. You will help him. You will stand by him. But you know he'll twist it. "I'm not Cameron," you remind him.

At that, he does head for you. But he must not plan on leaving—his cane is still left balanced on the edge of his desk. He stops an foot away from you, right leg just barely trembling. If you weren't looking, you wouldn't notice.

"I don't pop pills because it's fun," he grates out, and you notice the way his hand discreetly kneads his thigh. "If I didn't, my patients would die. You know that. You saw it."

"You refuse to let yourself be anything but miserable," you insist, stepping closer. "And this self-pity is fake and a poor excuse. You and I both know it's because you're afraid," you say, emboldened and a little angry.

"Sure, you are genuinely addicted. That week was hell for you and everyone around you," you admit. "You almost killed your patient because you couldn't stop sweating and being an irritable piece of crap."

Maybe you were more angry than you thought.

"But you refuse to wean yourself off with the proper assistance because then what? Your withdrawal symptoms are lessened, and one day you might actually do it," you say surely. "You might actually, physically, be able to live without those stupid little tablets that control your whole life.

"But mentally?" You ask, taking another step towards him. "You wouldn't be able to take it. You'd be forced to be happy, God forbid. You'd be forced to confront the miserable emptiness of your life and realize it's a sham. Because we care about you. Me, Wilson, Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, Cameron, we care about you. Probably as much as you care about us," you remind him. "Don't think we all just forgot how you were ready to burn this hospital to the ground if it meant saving Foreman's life. Don't think we all just forgot that you just about let your heart get crushed just so you could have Cameron back at work. Don't think that I forgot that you spent weeks reading literature on phantom pains after I complained," you say more softly, flexing your elbow where your prosthetic attached. You massage it for a moment—it seems to be aching in sympathy with his leg.

"And for some reason that I can't wrap my head around, you don't want to know that all those gaping voids in your life aren't there at all," you huff. "Because then you're just boring. You're just experiencing life like a person who has friends that care what happens to him. You're miserable and in pain because you're numb," you conclude. "Not the other way around."

He's had his eyes on the floor while you talk at him. The anger in you has faded, but your heartbeat stays quick. You breathe quietly, waiting for him to say anything.

"Being happy makes me a bad doctor," he says conclusively when he finally looks up at you. His hands are clenched, but he doesn't sound angry. "And love," he says derisively. "Ain't gonna fix my leg."

You sigh in defeat. He shuffles away from you, back to his chair, back to his ball, back to his wallowing. You can't… damn it, you can't make him believe you just because you want him to so badly.

The thought makes a tear fall from your eye. You try to swipe it away before he notices.

"And that," he points at your face. "Is why feelings make you a bad doctor," he says, and you know he's trying to hurt you. He's trying to push you away, again. You wonder if it'll work this time. "What if you have a patient next week that you can't crack? Are you gonna bring him to me and save his life? Or are you gonna stubbornly refuse because you're trying to teach me a lesson, because you just care so much," he pouts at you. "And let him die?"

You don't have the energy to argue with him. Suddenly, you can't remember why you tried. Why you stayed. Why you aren't at home in bed right now with a bowl of mac n cheese.

"You are… The worst," you say, your voice reedy and thin. You can feel your chin trembling and figure there's no point in stopping it.

"I'm the worst? Or I'm misunderstood and in a deep cycle of self-destruction that I need help for?" He questions sarcastically. "Can't have it both ways, sweetheart."

"You won't help yourself or let anyone else do it," you make your logical, rational argument for your conclusion. "It's both."

"That's sweet," he says drily. "Thanks for taking the time to let me know all that."

You don't want to turn around and head for the door. But you have nothing left to say, and he's wanted you gone since you showed up.

The thought makes a dull pain overcome you, like the emotional hurt has become physical. "If I have a patient I can't help, you'll be the first to know," you promise, finally moving to leave. "I won't bother you again."

You hope he'll feel a little guilty at that, but you hardly expect him to do anything about it. He'd die before admitting he did something wrong.

You have one foot past the glass wall when it happens.

It's as if your legs are taken out from under you, your lungs are wrung out, the lights above go from dim to strobing.

House calls your last name. When you don't respond, you think you might hear his cane and your first name.

Well, then, it must be bad.

You want to say something, but your mouth clamps shut and your arm grasps at your chest instead. It isn't long before House's blue eyes fade into nothingness.

[all-pacas]

I feel like I do this every week, but can we get a sneak peek at some of your wips?

Mostly working at my spoiler fandom exchange project. The WIP (and not fixed) title is Burnout Legends, so take that as you will.

-

Otherwise, I wrote this thing the other day as part of one of my drabble requests. It didn't work even slightly but I kind of had fun with it and am saving it as the potential start of a different story someday:

For the first month of Chase’s fellowship, they don’t have a single case. House is never in before ten, so Chase makes sure to be in by nine-thirty. Spends his days reading journals and daydreaming. Four hours in the clinic a week. Twice, he’s pulled into NICU to cover an absence.

House leaves promptly at five. Chase heads home at ten after.

-

Hernandez is the only other one in Diagnostics. Him and Jacobs, although she’d quit two days after Chase was fired, which at the time almost felt personal. Hernandez is in his late thirties, touchy, and Chase never learns his first name. He rolls his eyes whenever Chase says something, dismisses his every idea. Chase isn’t sure if he’s supposed to argue or just take it. He watches House for clues but House never says anything one way or another.

Six weeks into Chase’s contract they finally get a patient. Woman, forties, and her potassium keeps crashing. Chase spends sixteen hours and two heart attacks at her bedside while House stomps around asking questions and Hernandez fails to answer. “At least Chase is capable of doing something useful around here!” House snaps around hour twenty eight. By the next day, they have a diagnosis of Bartter Syndrome, and Chase is down a coworker.

-

A week later House hires a guy named Munoz. Just out of a cardiology residency, a real hot-shot who tells Chase in their first conversation he finished med school in three years and his under graduate in two. Their first case he completely shuts down, stammering and panicking under pressure, and he quits after three days.

Jacobs is a gastroenterologist. She’s nice enough: married, has two young kids. She and Chase get lunch a couple of times, and when she lasts the first month he starts to think she might last. Then her oldest gets the flu while they’re in the middle of a case. Chase isn’t sure if House fires her for taking time off or if she’d simply seen the writing on the wall and quit.

Gillespi and Okada and Palmer last about a week each, and Chase barely bothers trying to remember their names. Okada an oncologist House takes on to annoy Wilson; Palmer is quiet and smart but bursts into tears the first time House tells her off. It’s embarrassing and uncomfortable, and when she storms out, she gives Chase a look like it’s his fault for not sticking up for her.

Gillespi was the worst: he’s a rheumatologist, and on his first day House pretended to get excited about how much he and Chase had in common. Turned out, Gillespi had gone to several of the same conferences as Chase’s father, and took pains to let Chase know how much he admired the man. Luckily, he’d only lasted a few days before getting fired for screwing up a basic procedure.

Dr. Wise was next: Chase suspects House decides to keep him based entirely on the jokes to be made of his name. He’s forty, spend years working in free clinics and doing good, but at first House seems taken with the guy: Wise, he loves to remind Chase, has street smarts, meaning that last time House tried to scam them both out of money, Chase had given him forty bucks and Wise hadn’t given in.

Wise lasts almost three months and spends most of that time smiling patronizingly at Chase and telling him that, in his experience, everything Chase just said is wrong. But then his habit of second guessing spread to House itself, and he was out the door.

The last one is a Filipino guy named Aquino. House jokes that he and Chase should get along, since they’re both from the same backwards part of the world (Aquino is from Dallas), but he’s okay: if by now Chase didn’t know better he might have actually bothered to get to know him.

-

For a month after Aquino quits, it’s just Chase. He gets House’s morning routine figured out, befriends a couple of the girls in reception. If he starts a pot of coffee at nine thirty and one of them gives him a head’s up, he can have a fresh cup ready for House when he strolls through the door. The first time Chase pulls this off, House gives him a funny look: the third time House laughs aloud. “Cute,” he says, tossing Chase a file. “But you’re not my type. Go keep our new patient alive, Wilson’s interviewing your new baby brother.”

“How long do I keep Ms. Strickland alive?”

“If this new guy isn’t totally useless, I expect you back here at eleven for the DDX.”

Maran doesn’t make it past his first day.

-

House doesn’t hire anyone else for a while. Chase gets him coffee in the mornings, tries his hand at sudoku, and starts to relax. Then one day he comes into the office to find a girl standing there, awkward in the middle of the room and still in her coat. She’s younger than the last few hires — Chase’s age — and pretty, too pretty, enough that by the time Chase closes the door behind him he’s decided she’s a vanity hire, pretty enough House couldn’t resist, vastly under-qualified, and won’t last the week.

“You new here?” he asks kindly, taking off his jacket. If House doesn’t get offended, maybe Chase’ll ask her for drinks once she quits.

“Yes!” She’s nervous. Smiles awkwardly, covers her exclamation. “I was told to be in by nine…”

“House’ll be in in an hour or so. Maybe.” He doesn’t usually bother anymore, but Chase offers his hand, introduces himself: she really is very pretty.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” she says, too perky — he rethinks his drink plans — “I’m Allison Cameron.”

[fatphobiabusters]

I went to a doctor a year ago or so for experiencing excruciating pain in my legs and hips after having to stand for an 8 hour shift on a regular basis, so bad that walking after I got home from work was nigh impossible and I limped everywhere. They told me to lose weight. Despite my weight not being due to lack of exercise or eating habits, but due to medication that VASTLY improve my quality of life. I didn't argue cause I knew it was a lost cause with this doctor but Let Me Tell You I was internally screaming the whole time.

I have a referral to a rheumatologist now from a different, better doctor for the problem, which means I might get actual answers for my joint problems now (!!!) but GOD I hate the vast majority of doctors.

Good luck!

I hate them too. I’ve stuck with my current rheumy in part because they are willing to treat me even though I’m fat.

I tried to get an autoimmune diagnoses before that a few times but they just told me to lose weight. I’m now on RA drugs that really help me.

I will say it’s worth talking to other ppl with similar problems and doing your own research, too, if you can. Even when the doctors are willing to help they are often overwhelmed and also just human and make mistakes.

-Mod Siarl

[rebelwheelssoapbox]

#DoctorsAreDickheads vs #PatientsAreDickheads : Social Media & The Consequence Of Language

#DoctorsAreDickheads is a classic example of #'s that uses language that could (for some) imply that all people in a particular group (in this case Doctors), are this one thing, (in this case dickheads.)

However, the truth is, hashtags of this nature, whether it's in regard to sex, race, sexuality, gender, disability etc., created by people in a marginalized community impacted by the oppression in question, is rarely actually intending to say that all people in this group are the same.

“Oh my god. It's like [Not All] Men. In 2018, people are still Not Alling” commented one Twitter user, responding to how some doctors were taking offense to the trending #DoctorsAreDickheads hashtag, and replying with “hey, not all doctors”.

[photo of a statue doing placing their head in their hand] Those who have plenty of social media experience dealing with these hashtags, know what the hashtags are implying (and what they're not) but to a less experienced person, because the language is not #SomeDoctorsAreDickheads or #WhenDoctorsAreDickheads (as an example), one could easily argue that it's just not realistic to expect all people to get it.

In communication, one can achieve one of two goals. One can either tell “the other side” to go to hell, or they can try to start a conversation and exchange of ideas. It is important to note that, these kinds of hashtags, are not created with the intention of having a nice conversation between the two groups. To be clear, they are not created with the intention of having a conversation with the “other group” at all. They are created (sometimes in a moment of frustration) so that the oppressed demographic in question can get together, compare notes and let each other know, you are not alone. Hashtags of this nature can be very healing for the marginalized demographic in question, thus making them incredibly important.

[image of two cat hugging / cuddling and thus being adorable]

And while I agree it is not realistic to expect people to always get it, it is also not realistic to expect the marginalized demographic to be super mindful of their choice of language, so not to offend (what is often referred to as) “fragility” of the other side. While perhaps ideally (since this is done in a very public forum) there would be an awareness of language, it is not fair to put that on the marginalized group of people, who are already dealing with the toll of trauma & oppression.

So what does one do when you find yourself coming across a hashtag of this nature, and you start to feel that knee jerk defensive reaction rising up within you? Well, what not to do is start a response hashtag, such as the destructive and highly egoic #PatientsAreDickheads .

[image of a doctor looking up at the viewer while folding a chart in his hands]

One could argue that if patients can start a hashtag venting their feelings, with little regard to the consequence of language then why can't doctors do the same? Technically, doctors can (and some did) but that statement, implies that both groups (in this case, the patient/doctor dynamic) are on equal footing in regard to privilege and power, when that is simply not the case. In the end, the demographic who has more authority (in this case, doctors) should be the ones to make it easier for patients (in general but particularly in this situation), that often experience medical based oppression (and/or ableism), regardless if the doctors (in this case) are the ones directly contributing to the oppression.

And while some doctors took offense to the hashtag, responding with the knee jerk reaction of “not all doctors!”, citing the toll of high student loans, long hours and working within a system that leads to #DoctorBurnOut (which I do not doubt is a thing), it was the doctors who used the hashtag as an opportunity to really listen and educate themselves regarding patient experiences and the problems that need to be tackled in their field, that got it right.

Dr. Philip Lee @drphiliplee1 and Dr Clomoween @SezClom are examples of two doctors who got it. Photo of Dr. Philip Lee wearing doctor scrubs and looking at the camera No one is negating the struggles of being a doctor, but this does not excuse the incredibly harmful treatment of patients. Furthermore, a doctor chooses to be a doctor. A patient has no choice.

In the end, this isn't some petty hashtag because patients don't like their doctors choice of facial hair (if applicable) or even just about doctors being late (which actually isn't petty to complain about, as that is highly annoying). Below are just a handful of stories being shared (including some of my own.)

[image of Alexandra who is wearing a black top, black eyeliner and has dark hair] I was sent to an inpatient psychiatric facility because I was told that my chronic pain and POTS symptoms were due to an “undiagnosed mental illness” #DoctorsAreDickheads - @AlexandraJurani

After being 3 hours late, the neurologists asks me questions. Age, height etc then inquires re: my marital status. "I'm Single." "You've never been married?" "No." "You've NEVER been married?" "No..." "Ever see a psychiatrist?" #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC

once a doctor told me that my depression would be cured if I just stopped talking about feminism #DoctorsAreDickheads -@emilyhoven

[image of Eman who has curly hair, is wearing a gray top and is smiling at the camera] #DoctorsAreDickheads I emailed my old Rheumatologist to tell him I'd no longer be seeing him since he didn't believe me about the pressure/pain in the left side of my torso (which turned out to be a bleeding ulcer that I was in ICU for 6 days)- @Eman_Rimawi

I can't even count the times I heard #Psychosomatic & that I was just doing this for attn. Yes, I have nothing better to do with my life than to be sick & get attn from you dr, who I so thoroughly enjoy spending time w/. (p.s. had brain cyst and spine damage) #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC 

I have too many #DoctorsAreDickheads stories to share and it's too traumatic to even start. Point being, it's not rare and the effects last forever. Listen to all who are sharing here. It may hurt to hear this, but it hurts more to experience it. - @GilmerHealthLaw

My mobility was to where I could barely get around my apt. I ask my neurologist for a motorized wheelchair referral & she says "Oh, you don't want a wheelchair, do you?" (as if wc = bad thing) No, I prefer to be trapped in my own home for the rest of my life. #DoctorsAreDickheads - @RebelwheelsNYC

[image of Asher who is wearing retro cat eye glasses. the photo is B&W.]

I spent 20 years with both chronic and acute pain. My right hip and shoulder dislocate on a daily basis. I have a dozen comorbidities. I was told it was my weight, anxiety or all in my head. It was undiagnosed Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. #DoctorsAreDickheads - @Asher_Wolf

Lastly from @crippledscholar who (along with @stevieboebi ) is being credited as started the now trending hashtag conversation, wrote

kinda want to see #DoctorsAreDickheads trending with stories of medical gaslighting and abuse.

because in the end, these stories are not rare or a fluke.

[image of Kim who wears retro eyeglasses, dark lipstick and short hair. the photo is B&W] 

[image of Stevie who had brown and purple hair. They are wearing an open black furry coat and are looking right at the camera]

(Author’s Note: There was an abundance of tweets and stories to choose from, many powerful stories that did not make it into this article. However, by the time I wrote this article, the top tweets were not stories as much as responding to the backlash. Personally, I lacked the spoons to go through all of them, so I chose the ones that were the easiest to find.)

[pharmdup]

This just barely came up on my tumblr, and I agree with all of this, plus oh boy do I have Thoughts™️

The thing is, as a pharmacist, I almost never know the patient or the evidence quite as well as someone who went to medical school; nevertheless, I still do my damndest to keep up so I can fulfill my pharmacist’s oath to be a pain in the ass when something harmful is being ordered (to paraphrase the oath) (most of the time I just politely ask for education, the physician brings me up to speed, and I fill it).

I gotta do that with all specialties! I argue the same with cardiac surgeons, neurologists, nephrologists, rheumatologists, ophthalmologists, and I’d do it with the veterinarians if I filled meds for them*.

Sometimes, I’ll get an attending put in a really wild order that makes no sense with the indication, “the specialist told me to,” and expecting me to put through the order without any further discussion about benefits vs harms. I’d like someone to give me that specialist’s phone number then. I don’t put through orders that don’t make sense to me for the setting.

This rant was brought to you by an order for Kayexalate 30 grams every two hours, no stop time, in a patient with a potassium of 5.1, because it was rumored that a specialist told someone to do that**.

*I’ve yet to argue with a pathologist or a radiologist but I’m always looking for an opportunity ❤️❤️

**No, I didn’t process that order, but I sure had to be stubborn about it

Pro tip for PCPs, AKA “How to have boundaries with specialists”

When a patient comes in saying “Dr. Specialist told me to ask/tell you to do this [specialists wheelhouse related thing] for me,” the answer is “I don’t treat you for [specialist thing], so I would feel more comfortable if Dr. Specialist did that for you. If I need to call Dr. Specialist and let them know, I’d be happy to do so.”

I know I’ve ranted about this before, but I am so sick of specialists telling our shared patients to ask me to do their work for them. Just because you are a specialist doesn’t mean your time is more valuable than mine. If I don’t treat the condition, I have no business ordering the patient’s ostomy or catheter supplies because I don’t know what they need! I shouldn’t be prescribing a DMARD for their RA when they see a rheumatologist. And I dang sure don’t need to fill out the FMLA paperwork when you, Dr. Specialist, wrote them out of work for the orthopedic injury that YOU managed! Now if you refer them back to me for tighter blood pressure / blood sugar control or appropriate vaccinations, sure, that’s right up my alley and I’m glad to oblige. But don’t ask me to do your job for you. I am busy with my own paperwork.

This week I’ve been asked to do FMLA forms for a rheumatologist and an orthopedist and I also got asked to set a patient up for an infusion of a drug I’ve never heard of (and that our hospital doesn’t carry) by a rheumatologist. Nope, ain’t doing it. I hate to give the patient the run around because it isn’t fair to them but it also isn’t fair to me to do someone else’s work for no compensation.

Future specialists of Medblr, it is a disservice to your patients to claim “I don’t do disability/FMLA paperwork” or “I don’t do PAs”. If you are treating the patient, your job is to manage everything related to the condition you treat. PCPs, of all people, don’t have free time to do your work for you.

[tournesoldansunjardin]

(C) Clr’18. Inspired by the jazz playing in the cafe

Dear Emma, May 30th Vancouver day trip

I decided to go into Vancouver since it was the only place I could purchased the CBD cream for my knee. Well, what I am saying? If CBD is good for aches and pains, my goodness it should do wonders for all my aches due to Fibromyalgia. I will just get it and slather it all over the sore areas…which are plenty.

My host was kind enough to drive me to the bus stop, which saved me a good 30 minutes. I had loaded extra $ on my Compass card, so was not too worried of transfers and getting to the Waterfront in Vancouver. What I had not anticipated was the bus did NOT drive into the city as a few locals had told me last night. The bus stopped at Bridgeport SkyTrain station and I saw everyone get off. I walked up to the front and asked the driver if this was the end of the line…yuppers!

I remembered Waterfront line since it is close to our Vancouver office and chose that line to get in town.

I had the address of the Cannabis Lounge where I was hoping to get my cream. In BC you don’t need a prescription to get it but in Montreal we do. I have my request put in for that when I get back from vacation but I wanted to try it now since my knees were so painful as well as neck and shoulders, so what had I to lose? My intention was to buy it, try it and then mail it to me in Quebec because there was no way I was flying with that or going through customs with it. There is barely any THC in it and it does not affect the brain/mood but it is supposed to be healing and soothing for inflammation…so they say!

(C)Clr’18 Vancouver, GasTown, Hastings Street

I got in town and started walking in circles…yes, that is me. I look at Google Map on my phone and argue with it thinking I know better well, that means I go in circles and get so fed up, I give in to Google and voilà I found the place

  I was a bit apprehensive since it is on Hastings Street and there is a section that is quite sketchy but this place was not that far East…phew! As I walked in, there were three clerks at the centre of the shop on a raised platform surrounded by a counter. There were so many smoking paraphernalia and most I have never seen…well, maybe in a movie! As I walked in, one clerk was lighting up a joint and then gave it to his colleague and calmly [they sure ARE calm!] asked if he could help me.

I started, “I come from very far…” and explained that I heard the MJ Pain cream was very good for joint pain. One of the clerks said he uses it regularly on his wrist and it works…I doubt it was just the cream…[wink wink]

The small jar was $45 and the larger one $100…so I took the small one. I left and looked around for a comfortable café where I could put the cream on my knees, neck and shoulder and sit and relax with an Americano and wait for the magic. I found a Starbucks on an nice corner with a terrace, so I stood in line for the washroom first. After a good fifteen minutes, I entered and put the cream on, and placed the jar on the toilet paper shelf. As I put it there, I told myself, “I had better not forget it now!.” Why the hell did I not put it in my bag straight away? I wanted to wash my hands first.

I ordered my double shot Americano and sat comfortably in an armchair and relaxed…I felt a tingling in my neck but still pain. My knees had not budged…I mean the pain did not subside even a little. My shoulders were the same but my upper arm seemed painless. Hmmm, well, maybe I need to slather this on a few times before seeing any difference.

After an hour of reading and writing on my iPad, I messaged a colleague who now works in the Vancouver office and asked if I could take her out for dinner on her hour break later. I am so glad I did. She brought me to this funky bar called The Taco Shop actually just across the street from The Cannabis Lounge…another coincidence?  I was thrilled hearing the jazz music as I walked In.   I was so delighted. Of course I ordered seafood burritos with guacamole and chips to start. My friend chose the local beer for me as she had a good idea on what I preferred. It was great!!

We could only eat half so we doggy bagged the rest (which I will be eating as my bedtime snack tonight) and I went to join her at the office. I wanted to show her my jar of magic potion. I looked in every section of my backpack…then she looked for me and then an image flashed before my eyes ‘Brown jar marked MJ Cream’ on the shelf above the toilet paper’. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand out of sheer frustration! Darn!!! I forgot it there.

Then I remember the woman going into the washroom after me, I warned her that there was no more toilet paper (for which I was pleased I had carried Wet ones in my bag). I saw her later and she looked at me weird…NOW, I know why. She was probably waiting for me to ask the clerk if anyone had found a jar of cream. But I had not realized it at that time. Well, my coffee ended up costing me $55.00 (including Americano and a danish).

I was kicking shelf but then I finally let it go and figured if anyone who more pain and fell upon it, then I’m happy someone can benefit it. I know I will not order it online, having tried it, I need something stronger which I noticed they have another blend for arthritic pain. In any event, I shall discuss it with my rheumatologist before I try that again, since I am sure he has referred many of his patients to alternative pain relievers.

Walking back home away from home slowly and stopping often to take in the v

Getting back home on the sky train was fine (I double checked with a local to make sure I was taking the correct line since it was getting late and late transit is not so great outside of the city). I got at the bus stop at 10:30pm and looked on my app Transit to check the stops to make sure I got the right transfer. When I got at the stop at 11:15pm, there was no one waiting for a bus, so I asked another local and the lady was going to call the transit company not trusting my phone app. Just then the 321 transfer bus arrived, so we checked and the driver said this was the right line. The bus was a fifteen minute ride and the driver told me to just keep walking straight ahead and the road will become the street I needed to get to. WELL HE WAS WRONG!!!!

(c) Clr’18 When I crossed this overpass, I knew I was lost!

I walked onto a highway crossing and realized I could not be going in the right direction. Thank goodness the moon was so full and bright but boy was I getting frustrated, tired and after 30 minutes of turning in circles, I was getting scared. I did not meet ONE person on the streets where I was walking. This is so different than back home. My phone was losing juice quickly at 7% and often it closes down at 5%…I didn’t want to call the host of my AirBnB as I knew she turns in early (compared to me) and I wished for once that Uber existed in B C. If I would call them (like I did once in a similar situation when it got too dark in San Diego to retrace my steps) I called Lyft (similar to Uber) and they catch us on their GPS and pick us up straight away. I have to say we should have that service at least outside of major cities where transit is scarce. I could not have called a taxi, since they don’t have the GPS system Uber has. My last resort if I could no longer find the house was to call the police.

There was 1% left on my phone and it stayed on by pure miracle …yes, I said a few prayers too! And I finally got home at 12:30. I had walked 12km that day but 5km just getting home since it was supposed to be 2km!

Oh well, at least it gave me something to write to you about, Emma. Right? I took a nice hot shower when I got it to soothe every aching muscle and slept like a baby.

May 31st,

Today I woke up at 8 am but my body wouldn’t budge. I picked up my phone and finished reading an e-book, then I snoozed a bit off and on and did not get out of bed until noon. It took me a while to get moving but I took my time. And now here I am at a café

  (c) Clr’18 White Coffee and Ice Cream

  I started with a cappuccino and called my uncle in Ontario to wish him happy 90th birthday and then treated myself to a double scoop (did not realize they were so BIG) of rainbow chocolate…YUM!!

I sat inside to savour the ice cream and the music turned to Jazz which seemed to attract my muse and voilà, I just finished another post!

It is such a treat to by typing my post in front of the ocean…time to leave and sit on the shore now…one last time. Then walk the 4km back.

I picked up s few souvenirs at Whitby’, a place recommended by a grienf who used to live here in White Rock  I wanted so much there but the owner said I could order online too.

I sat on the beach taking in all I could , meditating and trying to be st one with my surroundings.  After half an hour I decided to walk back home slowly hopefully my to find a spot tovrst closer to my lodgings.

Unfortunately, I did not find a restaurant or fish and chip place open after nine. Boy!!! it’s a bit like Toronto was like in the early 1990’s. Ih well I guess ti each its own.

There were some other places further away from my lodgings, so I thought about the half seafood burrito I saved from last night.  Phew!  I also brought some good aged cheddar from Montreal. I am all set for my last night in BC.

Unpredictable Whimsical and enchanting Like Mother Nature

Unpredictable The weather In Canada

Whimsical and enchanting Getting to know A new lover

Like Mother Nature Humans influenced by the moon And the stars

(C)Tournesol’18-05-31

Daily Moments – unpredictability- May 31-18 (troibun)

Dear Emma -III – May 30-31 Vancouver (GasTown) (C) Clr’18. Inspired by the jazz playing in the cafe Dear Emma, May 30th Vancouver day trip…