The eyes have it...

The final chapter!

SATURDAY (cont'd)
At this point, you're probably wondering why I would want to go ahead with a silly old roadtrip. It's part one of a three-trip month, that's why! So Calgary is pretty much a practice. And I suppose it's good to get the shitty trip out of the way before the others come along, because they'll be much more awesome.

So now I had my eye drops and everybody had eaten and we were almost to Calgary. We drove toward my boyfriend's buddy's house, figuring we still had time for a pre-concert nap and supper. No, his friend may as well live in Airdrie, because we drove into the city to practically drive out of it again. It was a half-an-hour of urban sprawl. And to make it even better, our hotel was in the opposite direction!

But we had his GPS and Garmin ensured us that we would get to the hotel with enough time to check in and shower. But once we checked in and chose our beds, I asked Elle where Hawksley Workman was performing at -- after all, she ordered the tickets, so she would know. But no, neither of us had a clue where Flames Central was and when we punched the name of the place into Garmin, it didn't know either! So we tried the old fashioned way of searching the phone book -- and it wasn't in there either. I called the front desk and asked for the address, which the concierge had to google. When I punched the coordinates into Garmin, it still couldn't find this place.

Elle: "I think it's like the Saddledome or Pengrowth."

Me: "I don't think Hawksley's fanbase calls for a big venue. He's more of an intimate-club guy."

One last time on Garmin before deciding to give up, the address popped up and we were about 15 minutes from the location. Sweet! But Elle didn't want to miss the will-call pickup time and we had to head over immediately. No shower to wash off that hospital smell for me. :(

We arrive there early and decide to grab a quick bite at the McDonald's across the way, but no monster meal, because we're going to order a pizza to the room and watch late-night TV. In the McDonald's, a cashier frees up and a short, stumpy Australian woman burlies ahead of me and Elle. When I call her on the fact that I was next, she makes it seem like I don't know what I'm doing. Jesus Christ, lady -- just 'cause you're in Canada doesn't mean you can be rude to the Canadians. But she was a bitch all the way around, because we watched as she got her food and she opened every box and wrap at the till to check that the cashier didn't do the old switcheroo on her precious quarter-pounder. I think she doubly pissed me off because she was just another friggin' tourist with a belly pack and one of those ridiculous Stampede, boot-scoot-boogyin' 10 gallon hats. I don't care if it's the Stampede -- if it's not 1880 or you're not a cowboy, don't wear the hat.

Sorry, I'm a little off track. Well, we made it to the Hawksley concert. Read my review here. And fall in love with the Library Voices here.

Hawksley went long. Too long. My eyes and body hurt from adventures at the hospital. As we drive out of the parking lot, I end up driving Elle's car down the wrong side of the road! I pull a quicky u-turn and we search frantically for a sign that says no right turns. Surprise, there isn't one. I guess on a relatively empty street in a strange city, I'm supposed to just know this. And Garmin was being too slow to pick up on the satellites. By the time we're at the hotel, we're too tired to even take our shoes off, let alone order a pizza.

SUNDAY
By the next morning, I get up early for the complimentary breakfast. Elle may as well be dead to the world, so I have a quick shower, hoping she'll wake up while I'm at it. No, she's still asleep. So I rest my eyes and once she wakes up and is ready, we have about 30 minutes of free breakfast left. So it wasn't the freshest, but it was much needed after a day of road food.

We head off to the zoo. This time Elle drives and we get there with no problems, thanks to Garmin and clear heads. There was no line to get in and parking was free. We see a skunk and baby mule deer(s) (there was two, but the plural of deer doesn't show well here). There's a baby moose and the grizzly bear is out and about. We even see the koalas and watch the manta rays in their (former-)touch pool. Then we chillax with a cool slush and by this time it's 3:30 and we've seen everything we could possibly see.

I text my boyfriend that we'll pick him up at 5pm, sooner than we said we would. He said that works, because he and his buddy are just leaving the Stampede for home. Excellent. After a brief look through the gift shop we head to the car. Elle gives me her keys to make the long drive out to the buddy's house and then I notice something odd.

Me: "Elle, did you forget to lock your door?"

Elle: "What, no-ohmygodletmeinletmein!!!"

Some degenerate fuckface broke into Elle's car! Well, broke is a bad word, because she drives a late model Honda, which pretty much any thief has a "key" to. He just snapped the lock open with no damage. Except fuckface got into the glovebox and stole my boyfriend's beloved Garmin and Elle's iPod! I start bawling and Elle looks completely dejected.

Elle: "That's all I had left. I have no job, I have no iPod."

Me: (sniffle, sob) "We have to call the police. I have to call Ken. He can come get us."

Elle: "They can't take my birthday!"

We call Ken, but his buddy won't come get us. Instead, his buddy's wife gives me directions while I'm bawling like a fool. I don't want to help myself, woman! I want to go home and curl into a ball and try to remember the world before I was poked at, sleep-deprived, eye-cootied and made a victim of cowardly crime.

But no, we manage to find our way back despite being without poor Garmin (at least the crackhead who stole it didn't have to blow anyone that night to get their fix. Fuckface). I am completely miserable, but my usually down in the dumps companion is surprisingly in control.

Elle: "It's funny. I bought that iPod when I started at [the place that sacked me]. The day after I lose my job, I lose my iPod. It's funny. But they can't take my birthday!"

When we get to Ken, he's not upset at all. Easy come, easy go. Garmin was acquired illegally from a co-worker of his dad and bought at a too-good-to-be-true price for the fancy GPS. It's the circle of (criminal) life.

After that, the trip home was marginally better. But I know one thing's for sure: Don't leave anything in your glovebox that you're even remotely fond of. And don't buy a pop-and-unlock Honda. And don't see Hawksley Workman unless you're well rested. And don't attempt a roadtrip weekend that starts at the hospital. Seriously.

The end...or is it...?

Yeah, it is. ;)

-Girl on the Corner (hoping for a better vacation in B.C.)

The eyes have it...

...a bad case of hospitalitis

I didn't intend to make a scene. I was just so pissed off, but it did get the attention of the three nurses and the mother of them all: Donna.

Nurse Donna took one look at this blubbering baby and assumed control of the situation. She compiled my paperwork, barked orders to the other nurses and took me back to the opthamalogy area I was meant to be at at 10. By this time all the seats were taken, but I was too pissed off to want to sit nicely. I wanted to stand and cross my arms and tap my foot. You know, be a bitch.

Donna: "Hmm, all the seats are taken..."

Me: (still blubbering) "I don't care. I can stand."

Donna: (to me) "No, have a seat." (barking to everyone else) "Anyone who's not a patient can stand over here. We have patients that need to sit."

Immediately 10 spots were vacated and I sat down. Donna leaves. Another nurse comes by and tells the standers to sit.

Person: "That nurse told us the seats are for patients only."

New Nurse: "Donna just... I'm just making sure everybody goes in the order they came here in." (glances at me)

Thanks, new nurse. Now I was even angrier. I had a flipping appointment! I was here first! Bitch bitch bitch!

No sooner had she said that, then the opthamalogist summoned me in. And I kinda felt like a jerk. There were people here wearing patches and dark glasses, and I was going ahead of them. I wasn't supposed to be here.

As the doctor looked me over, she asked why I was upset. And I told the story again. She explained that the opthamalogy unit is usually just for the folks staying in the hospital or the ones who've had eye surgery. Most cases go to the eye clinic, but that the referring doctors never seem to understand that the clinic is closed on the weekends. So she gets all their patients, making Saturday mornings insanely busy. To top it off, Donna and the gaggle of nurses at the Unit 22 desk kept mixing up the order of patients.

Dr. Cool Chick: "How old are you?"

Me: (snifling) "Twenty-five."

Wow, nothing grounds you like saying your age while you're sobbing like a useless baby. Apparently she needed to know my age to make sure I'm not a candidate for juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. She looked into my eyes, then let one of her interns take a look. The intern mumbled something about seeing "cells." Eew. In both eyes, not just the owie one. Eew.

Then I got the dilating drops so she could check the back of my eyes in about 20 minutes. So to kill time, I was going to get some further tests done. Dr. Cool Chick explained that it looks like I've got iritis, think arthritis in your eyeball (watch out, proofers! This is why your benefits should cover vision!). And since I hadn't had any eye surgery or taken a baseball bat to the face, they have to assume I have some underlying medical problem trying to make itself known through my eyeball.

Back to the desk at Unit 22, my pupils as big as black saucers and getting bigger every minute, I reunited with Elle and Donna. Donna orders one of her nurses to take me to get an x-ray (to check whether or not my spine has fused together) and then I'm supposed to get blood tests. From Unit 22 down to the x-ray unit, the burdoned nurse explains that it's not in her job description to lead people around, but what Donna says is law and she doesn't want to cause trouble.

At the x-ray unit, there is no one around and the lights are off. Figures.

Me: "Figures."

Burdoned Nurse: "This is weird. There should be someone here."

Me: "This has been my whole day."

So the friggin' nurse has to ask for directions! Ha! Take that, bee-yatch! Then it's back to the emergency area to get x-rayed in there. Four people lying in pain on hospital beds go first. Thankfully. I didn't want to cut ahead of any emergency cases. So Elle and I waited for about 30 to 40 minutes and then I got to have my first x-ray since I was in junior high. Of course, I hadn't planned to get x-rayed this day and wore my comfy roadtrip pants with the metal buttons on the waist line. So adding insult to injury, I had to drop my pants for the x-ray ladies.

After that, it was a breeze. We skipped the return to Unit 22 and found the lab test area. They took six vials of blood out of me!

Blood Doc: "This is nothing. I once took 30 vials out of one patient."

Me: "I bet you like that story, because you can tell it to people like me who think they're getting a lot out of them."

Now the blood is done and we return to Unit 22. Donna welcomes us back, double checks with us both that I did all the tests. We tell her yes and then I'm back to see Dr. Cool Chick. She checks my eyes and confirms that it is iritis and gives me a prescription of steroid eye drops and eye ointment for nighttime. Just like I wanted in the first place!

Before we're free, I have to face one more test: the tuberculosis skin test. Donna sits me down and says straight up that it's going to hurt, don't touch it, come back in 48 hours. Don't touch it. I can't even put a Band-Aid over it 'cause it could screw with the test results. Don't touch it. But I'm really afraid I'll forget it's there and I'll scratch it by accident. Don't touch it.

It pinches a bit less than the blood test, so I think Donna was trying to make it seem worse than it really was. Damn reverse psychology!

A pat on the back and many thank yous later, Elle and I run away from the hospital. But I will be forced to return Monday to check my TB test and see another eye specialist for the next-to-final word. Picking up my much-needed eye drops, Timbits and my worried-sick boyfriend, we head for Calgary.

Now we're on easy street... Or are we?

The eyes have it...

...the iris strikes back

The next morning, packed for Calgary and a quick stop at the eye clinic, I pick up my pal Elle. I come in the door jibber-jabbering about how fun the weekend is going to be. As she hoists her bag over her shoulder, she tells me she's been laid off.

Apparently, her dipshit boss wouldn't even sit in on the firing and had a sales rep and the art director do it. And Elle had conveniently finished all her projects that same day. Hmm... I guess the only good thing is that she'd been sick of this place since they imposed mandatory "beach days" (one forced, unpaid day-off per week) and suggested cutting back salaries 10%. Why don't they just beat a puppy in front of everyone? That'll get morale moving.

So because she was sick of this BS for a long-time coming, she'd already started resume dropping, her parents had offered her money for rent or food and she seemed fairly relieved that the ordeal was over. No more fussing with idiots who can't communicate and are driving a perfectly good company into the ground.

We arrived at the hospital that houses the eye clinic. I complained about the lame Dr. LePuke and she her lame-ass former boss, but were in good spirits. After all, we were going to see Hawksley Workman that night and were damned well going to have a rockin' girls' weekend.

But when we get to the eye clinic at the appointed time, 10 a.m., it's locked up tight. I call the information line at the front doors, because God forbid someone should be manning the reception desk at a hospital.

Information Lady: "Oh, the eye clinic is closed on Saturday."

Me: "But the on-call doctor made me an appointment today. Would Dr. H. be in another part of the hospital? He might be waiting to see me."

Information Lady: "Good question. You could try going to Emergency. If they don't know there, you could try Unit 22."

Me: (gulp!) "Emergency?"

Elle and I head for the Emergency ward. I hadn't been in emergency since I broke my toe many, many years ago. And that was in a much nicer, suburban-area hospital which only saw broken arms, bad coughs and maybe a stomach ache. At the downtown hospital, I swear I saw a drug dealer. Others were having heart attacks, hacking their lungs out or rolling around drunkenly in a wheel chair with his arm wrapped up like a mummy.

All I wanted were some eye drops!

Elle took one look around and raced outside. So there I stood, alone in the emergency room line, simply waiting for directions. You don't cut in front of the heart attack guy for directions.

When it was my turn to see the nurse at the desk, she told me to go to the mysterious Unit 22 and again said that the eye clinic is closed on the weekend. No shit. I may not know where I'm going, but I know damned well that Dr. LePuke booked me for the f-[gratuitious language] eye clinic.

Up in the Unit 22 and reunited with Elle, I explain again to a brand new nurse what the situation is: Dr. LePuke, appointment, eye clinic, information desk, emergency, Unit 22. She smiles and leads me around to the opthamalogy area, where two opthamalogists are checking patients with cataracts, glaucoma -- you name it, you don't want it. But I have an appointment! I get to jettison ahead of these 20 other people! Woo-hoo!

Nurse: "Do you have your paperwork?"

Me: "What paperwork? I didn't get any papers."

Nurse: "You'll have to go back to the other desk or go back to Admitting."

Admitting? I was never there. Or at least there was no one at the desk I went to. What is this Admitting?

Blood boiling I returned to the Unit 22 desk, where three nurses fluttered back and forth. I have an appointment! Elle checks the time. We should have been in Calgary by now, visiting the zoo animals and laughing at Calgarians.

Me: "We should just fucking leave. This is ridiculous. If this is so serious..."

Elle: "Did you want to go? We're already here."

Me: "Let's go."

My feet don't move, but I manage to move around the desk and look away from Elle. I can't stand it anymore. Half my day is already gone, because the on-call doctor is a fool, I keep getting the runaround, the Unit 22 nurses are ignoring me, I'm tired and my eye is sore and I don't know what's wrong with me and I had to stand in that scary emergency room with people with real problems and--

Then the waterworks came. I haven't cried in a long time. And this wasn't a sad cry. I'm just an emotional crier (happy, sad, angry -- it's all the same). This time I was pissed off.

(To be continued...)

The eyes have it...

...uveitis that is.

This was supposed to be my weekend of Calgary fun and immediately spiralled into a hellish trip. Well, maybe not hellish. I was told several times by my travel companion that you have to take the good with the bad. This is the story of the rollercoaster weekend.

FRIDAY
It began since last Sunday. My right eyeball was pink and sore with every movement. But it wasn't pink eye. I've had pink eye with every bad flu and this wasn't it. By Friday morning and no sign of the storm breaking, I took the morning off from work and journeyed down to the medicentre. My beloved Dr. Zed would never be the available on-call doctor, and as I predicted, I was stuck with the abominable Dr. LePuke (that's not his name, but it kinda sounds like it). All I would need were some industrial-strength eye drops.

After waiting the standard 45 minutes, I went into the examination room. LePuke came in shortly after, just as the infected ear poster was starting to get to me. I told him my symptoms and he repeated them back to me.

LePuke: "You might have iritis. It's an inflammation."

Me: "Okay-"

LePuke: "I'll make you an appointment at the Royal Alex's eye clinic."

What what what?! A hospital? I don't want to go there.

The nurse gives me the appointment date, which I figured would be the following week (say this day here). No, it was Saturday at 10 a.m. -- when my pal and I would be touring the Calgary Zoo, looking for baby animals and ice cream. This eye thing had to be more serious than I thought.

Me: "B-but I'm supposed to be in Calgary tomorrow morning. Can you reschedule?"

Nurse: "Well, that's the appointment. You should probably go."

Me (now bawling like a fool because Dr. LePuke didn't seem to want to explain what this weird "iritis" is and its severity and my weekend is suddenly ruined): "Is-is what I have serious?"

Nurse: "You should probably go."

Bitch! Bastard! Thank you, medicentre staff, for informing me of what I might have. I forgot that all regular joes on the street should know what this odd condition is with the flip of an iPhone.

All I wanted were some industrial-strength eye drops and now I had to see an eye specialist.

(To be continued...)