The doctor saw me. My diagnosis was: neuropathy R arm.
So, the doctor set me up for an appointment with a neurologist. That’s good news. I didn’t have a stroke. There’s no pain; but something is wrong with the arm and now at least the process to find out what’s wrong and hopefully to correct it has begun.
Okay, the agenda for this weekend is to post another story and maybe another writing tip along with more postings about The Life of a flash fiction writer.
GHH
It’s 11am and I’m in the waiting room of the emergency department at the VA Hospital in Oakland in Pittsburgh. The nurse who took my pulse and temp didn’t act as if I was being silly at all about my right arm being tired all the time.
On the TV in the waiting room, Drew Carey is hosting the Price Is Right. In the waiting room is one other guy around my age waiting, too.
I’ll read my Pittsburgh Post-Gazette while I wait for my name to be called.
GHH
Today I called off from the Braddock Employment And Training Center to go to the VA Hospital. My right arm ain’t right. It always feels tired. For a long time I thought it was from sitting in front of a computer screen several hours typing and putting in data at the BEATC; but after I called the VA hot line and described the symptoms to a registered nurse who told me it was best to get the arm evaluated right away I figured I’d better get it evaluated. I called the nurse Wednesday. She told me just to go to the emergency room that night. Did she think I had had a stroke?
I feel silly going to the emergency room; but I’m going in the next couple of hours.
GHH
As far as I can tell the interview for the job went splendidly. I stayed focused on the questions. I didn’t talk too much and when I was asked if I had any questions about the company I had two that showed I’d investigated the company.
I arrived really early downtown for the interview so to kill some time I had a cup of hot chocolate in a deli-diner around the corner from the building the interview was to be held in. The hot chocolate was made with milk and sitting at a table I read the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. There were only two men, in suits like me, in the diner talking about the Steelers. The diner was bright and clean and I read the paper and drank my hot chocolate and every once in awhile looked up at the old movie posters on the wall: The Phantom of the Opera, Singin’ In The Rain, Cabaret, Tommy, My Fair Lady, All’s Well That Ends Well, Chicago, the Lion King and a few others.
If I make the first cut there’ll be a second interview in a few weeks. Damn!
GHH
