My doctor on Monday ordered a vascular carotid artery duplex scan and before I even got home the scheduler had left a message on my answering machine that I had to go in for the test on Friday, today. I called back insisting that I didn’t do tests in their downtown location “so schedule me at the hospital,” which is located in the suburbs. “We could do that,” the woman said, “but your doctor wants this test done in a timely manner and you’d have to wait three weeks to get in there.” Crap, I thought, by then snow could be flying and I don’t do snow either. “Oh, don’t worry,” she said when I whined about hating downtown driving. “There’s nothing to it. We’re just off the expressway and our parking ramp has very gentle turns.”
What she didn’t say
is that the expressway has an S curve in the middle of the downtown area and
off the S curve I’d have to take the connection to another expressway before existing
again to their location, plus there is construction going on in the area. Under
the best conditions, these are the most dangerous pinch points in the whole
metro area of over 1,000,000 people. And I got lost. Thankfully, I left early
enough so I could get myself turned around and back up north to familiar
territory where I could start all over again. This time I routed myself without
using the expressways which took my past one pit bull fight in progress and two
hookers selling their wares but I got to the medical building in time. The next
time some anonymous scheduler tells me to go to that building I’m going to tell
her or him that I’d rather die waiting for an appointment at the hospital than to
die from the stress of going downtown. On the good side, the woman who did the
test said if she had found anything significant they wouldn’t let me leave.
That was comforting until I remembered that they told my husband that he had
passed his yearly physical with flying colors then two days later he had a
massive stroke.
Change of Topic: For
four-five years I‘ve wanted to take part in national novel writer’s month which
takes place in November. This year I decided to go for it. In case you’ve never
heard of NaNoWriMo, this is what their website says: “National Novel Writing
Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to creative writing. On
November 1, participants begin working towards the goal of writing a
50,000-word novel by 11:59 p.m. on November 30. Valuing enthusiasm,
determination, and a deadline, NaNoWriMo is for anyone who has ever
thought fleetingly about writing a novel.” It’s not all online either. Lots of
cities, including mine, have meet-ups at local coffee shops and food courts
over the month so you can interact in person with others working on a novel.
The website calls people like me ‘rebels’ because we intent to break the rule about only writing fiction and/or the rule about writing all your words in November. I won’t be getting a “merit badge” at the end but I don’t care. I just want the pressure of writing with a deadline. They don’t mind rebels and the website offers a whole section for us to interact with one another. I’ll be working on a memoir/humor book about living with a spouse with severe language disorders, and I’ve actually got seven years of daily note writings that needs to be rewritten and ruthlessly edited down into a cohesive book.
As a widow it might not be easy reviewing what I wrote while
watching my husband cope with his post-stroke life but nothing ventured,
nothing gained. I have a story to tell about a man who inspired just
about everyone he met and thus my widow’s journey will be taking this detour to
the past. I might get overwhelmed. I might give up in the first week. Or I
might be a glutton for punishment and follow through. My November social
calendar is also filling up and I’m beginning to wonder where I’ll find the
time to sleep. Still,1,667 words a day is doable to make the word count quota
for the ‘”write-athon.” After reading though the posts on the rebel forums I
discovered I’m not the only widow doing a memoir which shouldn’t surprise
anyone who reads blogs written by women. Whether we are using the book idea to
put a period on the past or to keep ourselves attached to the past is a
question I’ll let others decide. All I know is I will not be going to the
downtown Starbucks in November for one of the local meet-ups of NaNoWriMo. ©
