Swallowed by the Doughnut

I get up.

What day is this. I can only keep track by events, not days. Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday? All I know is that I have my meeting with WEFOOLS today. hmmm. I slide my legs off the bed, feel the coldness of the floor at my feet. Is this Wednesday? I have my MRI today. Do I have my MRI today or my meeting? Did I miss my meeting? I check my calendar and paperwork. The problem: both my MRI and the WEDARE meeting are on the same date. Shit. How the fuck did I do that?

Well, the choice is simple. I'm going to take care of my health before I sit across from some drone talking about how I filed some stupid paperwork that's missing this or that. I swear, if they wave paper at me I'm going to take it, crumple it, and send it airborne over the cubicleworld that these drones live in. Fucking drones.

I call WEASSHOLES...three times, and don't get this stupid bitch but her answering machine instead. When I was just about to quit, I call one more time and she answers. She listened to all of my messages and will reschedule me for tomorrow at 11:00. That's good. I nod, break, run. I am late for my MRI.

I get there on time surprisingly, and wait in the waiting room. One of the hive mind behind the reception desk gets up and calls my name. I am surprised that she knows me. Yes, she remembers me from the last time that they had me wait for two hours just to send me home. My name is called again by a woman in a blue labcoat. I am led into the clinic fully, to the dressing rooms and instructed to put on the gown and nothing else, except my underwear. This time I remembered to wear my underwear with a measure of relief. I put on the too small robe and step out of the dressing room. There is a small waiting area near the rooms, and, being familiar with waiting here the last time, take a seat.

I'm all prepared for a long wait again, but a female technician comes up to me and beckons me to follow her into a status room, filled with computer monitors displaying all kinds of technical shit, dimly lit, and sit in front of a male technician who is filling out a computer form. He asks me some pointed questions about my health and operations. I answer them, and in fifteen minutes we are done. The female technician touches my shoulder and leads me out and into another room.

Cold as a fucking icebox, noisy as if there was a con- struction site next door. I am led to the MRI machine. A male technician is there preparing a plastic cot in front of the huge doughnut shaped machine. I am instructed to lay on the cot. It elevates the moment I'm comfortable. I'm no longer comfortable. The woman drapes a sheet across my body, a plastic thing, like a food tray with holes is rested on my belly and strapped down hard. The pillow behind my head is fluffed. My hands are tucked in under my thighs, and a pair of headsets are put over my ears.

Without a word from the technicians away I go. The great machine sucks me in as if the cot was an extended tongue. The doughnut is a long, tight tube, making the entire experience like being in a coffin. It was very claustrophobic. A male technician speaks to me through the headsets, telling me to stay calm, the machine makes quite a noise. Sure.

It does. It sounds like it's coming apart, knocking, whining, beeping. Loud. If it wasn't for the headsets, I think I would have panicked. I am told to inhale, exhale, hold my breath. I do what I'm told. I am in this motherfucker for longer than I need to be or can endure. I am almost at the end of my rope when the technician in my ears tells me that it's over. It must have been close to a half an hour in this monstrosity. The cot moves out as if spat out and lowers low to the floor. I am undone, uncovered and told that I'm done.

I am led back to the dressing area where I change into my clothes and thank everyone. I leave, asking for a doctor's note before walking out of the office. It is done. I'm outside on a sunny and hot day, the women looking as sexy as ever. The day is too good to be in the Way. I strike off uptown at a steady walk, heading, once again, from 59th street up to 98th. Before long, I am home without any pain or aches.

I come home and get directly online. I call for choosing my HMO, and find out that I don't have to chose anything. I was caught in the teeth of the bureaucracy. All of their paperwork that they were sending me in the mail was incorrect and that no action was necessary for me to take. Thank you for fucking up my month guys with running around getting information that I do not now need. Have a great day.

I surf to the site to request for the opening of a Fair Hearing, and submitted a complaint against FAGS WESCARE on the basis that they did not consult my doctors as to my fitness in being in the program. Blah, blah, blah. The application is accepted and I should look for confirmation in the mail. I'm taking these fucks to court.

I am contacted by a friend from my previous employer who is herself without a job in our field and she gave me some strong leads. Beautiful. I follow them down, remembering how a lot of people left our company to go to this one, which is larger, and in need of people with my skills. This could be beautiful if I could land a job with them. I will no doubt meet my salary requirements, and MOST IMPORTANTLY the benefits. I fill out forms. File my resume. I do everything hungrily until I grow tired and give up, crawling into bed.

I'll get up and continue with filing my resume...before I have to go to the Vocational Center and search for a job...as a clerk in a church, or pushing a broom outdoors. Not that I'm looking down on such jobs. I'm not. It's just that it took me years to learn my skills only to let them go to waste. I know I wanted to be a writer, but without good leads and a decent editor pushing my work I'm going to be dealing with WEHAIR. This is intolerable, which is the way they make it. They want to make it hard for you to collect the state's benefits.

I'm crossing my fingers.

Hobobob