The famous Doctor Who: there are many, the series began in 1963, Matt Smith is the current Doctor

Who’s Who? A Parade of Doctors Who, fifty years worth

The premier episode that aired Saturday March 30

Saturday evening began the latest incarnation of Doctor Who in all his magic screwdriver glory, starring Matt Smith. I was never a fan of the cult classics but my son piqued my interest and I was sucked into the black hole of the first episode, The Bells of St. John. It’s complicated. Doctor Who is a bit of a nerdy goofball who never ceases to amaze us or succeed. He travels through time and space and manages to have a great companion along side. Of course there is a little love  interest. And if you think of the program long enough, you’ll find it downright scary. There’s a Twilight Zone edge to it that is creepy. What makes something creepy is when one can identify with it and see the possibilities. In this day and age anything can happen. It is what we do daily that can be spun into horror.

Imagine this: you are sitting in front of your computer and need a Wi-Fi connection and can’t seem to find one…

… or the right one. Click on the wrong one (how many times has your computer searched for a signal and found all kinds of possibilities that you could click on? ) and you are in trouble. That’s what thousands if not millions of folks did, clicked on the wrong link and by doing so ended up lost in cyberspace, in a Wi-Fi web of hell, victimized by some ruthless character who has taken them over, taken over their brains.

Celia Imrie as Miss Kislet who gets her up and coming at the end

They are left to wail, hundreds, thousands of Wi-Fi trapped souls: Somebody help me! I don’t know where I am!

The trapped souls look much like this, behind their computer screens and are monitored at a central station
and taken over by the spoon-heads, a scary lot, indeed

Now, what could this possibly have to do with me and my current situation?

There are times when I am feeling I don’t know where I am.  I am so spun around by a crazy, daily mélange of stuff that eats away at me and drowns me in details and papers and decisions that I don’t know where I am let alone who I am. My anxiety ridden sleepless night was punctuated by the knowledge that I have to get this poor ill kitty to the vet and he is not cooperative and unlike my Siamese cats of years ago who I raised from early on, these guys lived outside from day one and learned martial arts. In short, orange guy scares me. (Remember my purple finger?)

But, aside from that my day was consumed by the following:

Play, the orange guy on the right as a young ‘un.
He is actually very sweet and the only one who sits with me on the couch

• trying to lure a very suspicious cat into one of three carriers by putting treats and food into them and  being poised to close the door. Quickly. It never happened. The other two cat parties who I wasn’t intending to take in to the vet were very compliant, but orange guy was too smart. I did not get to do the swaddle in towel and stuff into carrier routine because the following things happened:

• the phone rang: it was the home care agency informing there was a bill coming of over $3,000. In order to charge it on a credit card, mine or my mother’s, required over a half hour on the phone to clear an interstate charge.
• I had to call the aide to get info about her agency for the long term care insurance company
• I had to call the aide back and get info on the U.S. Treasury card that was issued to my mother and needs to be “emptied” into her account: I set up a pin and authorized her to make a deposit.
• I spent more than a half hour on the phone with the long term care agency and the rep didn’t seem to have any of the data that had recently been entered on the case.
• I called the vet and told the receptionist I need a vet tech to come to my home and help me (I was now at my wits’ end) and as I was doing so I noticed I was standing in a pool of water in my kitchen:
• the dishwasher had leaked, it had done so one isolated time last week, of course after a holiday dinner and I thought that maybe I had just opened it mid-cycle and the tub was too full, but no. Something was leaking mid-cycle and it was worse than last week. Strange that it seemed so random. Called to make an appointment, can’t get a service call until Friday morning. Bring on the paper plates.
• Sadly, Princess Blue was delivered to the vet almost two weeks post spaying: blood work was done, she has feline AIDS/ FIV+
  my friend will do what she can to attempt to help her get well, but who will take in this poor animal?

So, you see how I get spun around?

And then there is this: my mother can’t be seen by any regular doctor–no orthopedic, cardiologist, pulmonary specialist, no one with her straight Medicare which is now supplemented by Blue Cross, because she is on Hospice care where the philosophy is that they make your end of life comfortable and if it is your end of life, why would you need to see a regular doctor? You are expected to wait for the Hospice doctor who might get to you once a month because you are one of eighty patients and he is on overload.

The aide told me my mother was seventy pounds when she came home from the hospital. Then she was seventy-five, and I was aghast not having known she was even less. Yesterday she was seventy-nine pounds. Today she weighed in at eighty pounds. She still has respiratory issues, she is still weak, she is still on oxygen, but she is eating, she is hungry. This is end of life but how soon is the end of life?

Where is the doctor?

Doctor Who?

Is this the end of life?

Somebody help me. I don’t know where I am.

This series is linked: see “continued here.” Also, below the line there will be links for the previous post and the next.

The series starts here

continued here