Minor Irritations

(I should have posted this Saturday but I was waiting for the world to end so I wouldn’t have to do it. Hooray we’re still here; boo, I have to clean the house.)

Saturday was as frustrating a day as I’ve had in some time. Thursday I came back from the doctor with an odd diagnosis. A couple of weeks before intense, deep pain centered around my left elbow woke me up. If the pain had been shooting down my arm I would have called 911. But I’d been sleeping with my arm curved up under my head, so I figured I’d just aggravated the arm. Yet the pains kept coming back.

More scene setting: You should know my work schedule has been too hectic by half the last three weeks.  And going to my doctor is always a major production because I work way out on the Northeast side of town and Dr. Smith is closer to where I live, on the Northwest. It can mean two to three hours off, depending on when I can get the appointment! I finally found time in my work schedule to go last week.

Ok, enough preliminary jabber. I finally get to the doctor and he tells me I have medial epicondylitis – golfer’s elbow. Huh? I don’t play golf, and it’s not my predominant hand. This is the part where I beat myself up and tell myself if I were truly organized, I’d have gotten the brace immediately after the appointment and I wouldn’t have gone through the irritation I went through Saturday. But no. Angst over minor issues is my specialty. Once I got to Long’s Drugs to fetch my new elbow brace, I discovered I didn’t have my wallet with me. No wallet = no cash, no debit card, no credit card. Ugh. It also means no driver’s license. Driving right below the speed limit, carefully observing all laws, I went back to the Panera where I’d stopped earlier for a bagel. The manager and I looked everywhere – he even put on gloves and went through the trash. No luck. At this point I was sure that I’d be cancelling credit cards and going to the DMV first thing Monday morning. But when I got home – there was the wallet behind the step-stool in the kitchen. How it fell out of my purse there is a question only my cat could answer, but she’s not talking.

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