My MRI & Me

Yesterday I drove over to the Arlington Group to pick up a copies of both my MRI and the X-rays of my lower back.  First of all, I have to say I was surprised by how busy they were - patients everywhere which truly didn't surprise me.  As I'd said early, they have a very good reputation.  Anyway, I had to sit and wait because they couldn't find the CD with my MRI and the X-rays.  After about 10 minutes the girl waved from the counter.  "Here, I've found them."  I toddled over and she handed them to me with a cheery "you have a good day."  I smiled and wished her the same.
It wasn't until I got home that I discovered she'd given me something extra:  the authorization for the release of my medical information.  This form is to be kept on file by them... and, of course, they don't have it.  You can see it there, lurking beneath the disk.

Anyway, this shouldn't have surprised me.  I suspect something went awry after my initial diagnosis and for reasons known to only them, they prescribed one of the most invasive, expensive treatments possible.  They had 33 days to pre-authorize the claim and didn't...  maybe they're just not used to having claims denied.  I don't know about you, but I'm fairly certain this is their send off present, that my doctor / patient relationship with the Arlington Group has now been severed.  This is life.

Close shave

I'm off today.  That means my daily routine is more relaxed.  There is no set time for me to get up, and when I do, things get done at my own speed.  Sometimes I shave on days off and sometimes I don't.  This morning I decided to shave.  I keep my razor and shaving cream on a small table in a walk-in closet off of the bathroom.  So, I pulled them out and set them on the sink and went on to enjoy a long, hot shower.  Stepping out of the shower, I lathered my face with shaving cream only to discover the razor seemed to have gone missing.  Shit.  Wrapping the towel around me, I began looking for it, first of all verifying that I did, indeed, take it from the table in the closet.  Then I padded down the hall.  Checking the computer room / gym and still finding nothing, I proceeded to the bedroom. There, on the bed, I found the razor... well, not the whole razor, just the handle.  Shit.

The razor

As you can see, it's been chewed up...  And of course I knew exactly who to blame, Lilly, the little Boxer.  So I started the search for the blades.  As I looked, I knew there was a distinct possibility I might be calling the Vet.  And I began to wonder what the cost of x-rays would be, and if they did prove she'd swallowed the blades, what the cost of the surgery would be, and, while I have no problem with the expense, this is not the way I prefer to have points put on my Amazon credit card.  While I could write a check, I hate taking that much money out of the bank, so I decided earning the points would be better.  As you can tell by my thinking process, and while I do say "shit" a lot, I am not one who panics, at all. This is why, when anything serious does happen, I am the one everybody calls.

The culprit

So I wiped the shaving cream from my face, got dressed, and went down stairs.  There, on the living room carpet, were the razor blades, chewed but still intact in their plastic sheathing.  I checked Lilly's mouth and it was fine, no nicks or cuts.  The end result?  My razor is now in the trash and I'm back to using my Braun shaver.  Dogs.  Do you think Lilly realizes how close a shave she had?  Not at all.