Of course, with the Pacific Ocean a few miles to the West, one knows where it comes from--the landing of a cloud bank on a bridge, the arrival from far off ports of a ship that brought thunder as its gift, the simple act of movement on a never-still planet. As an Indiana native, the change of weather doesn't shock me, it's how it changes here that does. I awake one morning to a calm pleasant so nice I can barely want a jacket, and the next to a grey down color determined to wring the last bit of warmth from my body.
That is something I love here, not easily replaceable elsewhere. There are 17 seasons in San Francisco, all going on at the same time, in different places and in small corners. If you could tune to a camera to show you all streets on a sunny day, you'd be shocked to see on some that we wear sweaters and on others we carry cold drinks.
The virtue of flexibility has never been more necessary in my life and never have I welcomed the certain lack of hard coding I have toward the bends more. As I've aged, my patient quotient has increased dramatically, my demeanor keys have mellowed out and I make, overall, better music in bad situations than ever before. This I find particularly helpful in doctor's offices.
I met my new surgeon/case manager doctor yesterday--Dr. Wang. A tall, angular fellow with a studiously calming voice, I instantly tagged him a better choice for me than the breezy neo-dude who could barely acknowledge my existence. This attitude adjustment is good considering our appointment started 45 minutes late, due to no fault of mine.
I have the dreaded Midwestern expectation of punctuality, particularly of myself. If you want to see me panic, let me delayed from reached a specific point fifteen minutes prior to the specific time I promised to be there. I do not use the word promise lightly; to me promise and appointment are interchangeable terms.
Medicine, full of exactitudes based upon inexactitudes, cannot be run thus. I know it, you know it. Some patients cry and need a shoulder, some arrive a la point and instantly gum up progress. Others barely acknowledge a clock has any business with their arrival and departure and won't be dictated to by the petty districts marked on a clock. Those people, with whom I populate a relatively burdened system, I genially despise.
As to content, once we got going, there was every proof that Dr. Wang was a good choice in that he made no bones about his lack of familiarity with my entire chart, and the fact that I am a late addition to his working life. I'd much rather know this straight off, and from what other doctors have told me, this is typical of a surgeon who did not perform one's primary surgery. What Dr. Wang is being asked to do is answer for another person's work--thankless in any condition. So the fact that we start from mutual understanding is excellent. Now, I simply want his schedule to work better.
That, of course, is a lot like wanting the wind to go away.
I happen to be up at 3:36am, and that's an oddity of late, nights being generally very good to me, and sleep being very easy. I've felt so normal for a few days that it jars me to find people staring at me on the bus, because it simply seems so unnecessary--why me? Then of course it floods back--the misshapen face, the trach tube, the strange bit of mechanism that hangs beneath my shirt in front from the G tube feed.
I was in a contemplative mood when the 4 year olds' eyes bored into me, and then irritated, and then recalling myself at 4 and the fascination I felt with other people. The 70-something man with the gut, however, I wanted to punch. At that point in life, there should be no lesson left to teach other than thankfulness and reminding someone at that age to look away when I notice that you've been eye raping my oddities for a full five minutes is almost unnecessary social manners conditioning. That merits a "please, bitch."
Had I not been about to disembark the bus, wanting to be ready to spring up at the first moment as to punctually do so, I was wondering if I should say something to him--the problem, though, is that my speech only confirms my difference right now. All those wonderfully witty things I thought to say--do you need me to remove my clothing for closer inspection, Sir? Would you like to view a note from my doctor?--would sound so much like Donald Duck on valium that it would entertain and divert far more than instruct. Damn this tongue loss.
Ultimately, like the wind, he manifested and left, and while rogues never wander far in San Francisco, there's no guarantee we'll meet again soon. Better that we don't. As I advance ever upward in re-attaining my ability to blend in a crowd, we may find each other again in a queue that requires grace to bear. My guess is I'll survive it better than him.
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