She tucked the paper under her arm while pretending to dust the plant, in case anyone was looking. She looked around. The concierge was joking with the mailman. Louella walked to the elevator and pushed the button for her floor. I guess I really should subscribe to this again, she thought. It's our hometown paper, but really, it's got nothing much in it. Glad I never went into journalism—what a loser career!
She emerged from the elevator and tottered on three-inch heels to her door and let herself in. I think this will be the last job interview I go out on, she thought, kicking off the expensive torture devices and wriggling her toes on the white carpet. I mean, what's the point? The pain didn't go away. The arches were cramped. Oh no, she thought. I'd better not need to go see a podiatrist! She kicked herself again, metaphorically speaking, for not having medical insurance. But then she reminded herself that it probably wouldn't cover a podiatrist anyway. There's no way to win in this society any more, she thought, flipping the paper and her purse onto the sofa and walking in circles to work out the cramps. Except for winning the Lottery.
Pouring a glass of cheap white wine from the refrigerator, she limped back to the sofa, rummaged in her handbag, and produced her Lottery ticket stub. Then she flipped through the Sun to find the winning numbers from the day before. Rats! she thought. Another loser! Maybe I'll start buying five a day instead of one. I mean, I hit it once. Some people hit more than that. Why not me?
It was six o'clock. She reached for the TV remote and turned on the news. She watched for a couple of minutes, then clicked it off. Losers! she thought.
Her cell phone sang its little tune. She glanced at the Caller ID and saw that it was her father. She sighed, let it ring a couple more times for effect, and answered. "Hi, Dad!"
"Lou, why d'ya have to do that—why d'ya have to take away my thunder? Why can't ya let me surprise you, let me say, 'Hi, Lou!' first?"
It was a familiar complaint. "Daaaaad," she scolded. "Get with the program. If I didn't know it was you, I might not answer the phone."
"Humph! Ya might not answer it if ya know it's me, too! Think I haven't figured it out, huh? I wasn't born yesterday, got that?"
He's right about that, thought Louella with a twinge of guilt. "Well, all right then, Dad. What's up?"
"Well, you remember when I had that little medical thing happen last—what was it, in September?"
"Yes, Dad—how could I forget? It scared me to death!"
"Well, it's back."
"The bleeding's back. In your urine."
"Yeah. I didn't know what to do. I mean, it weren't nothin' before, so I thought maybe I should ignore it and it'd go away, but it's still there. Coupla weeks now."
"Do you have any of those antibiotics left from before, Dad?"
"Hey, now—I followed their directions last time, and took ’em all."
"Oh." Rats—he'll need a new prescription. Good thing it's only March, and he's not in the donut hole yet. "Well, okay, then. Have you called that doctor to renew?"
"Thought you could handle it for me, Lou. I might not understand what she tells me on the phone. You know—my bad hearing and all!"
This caretaking thing is really getting to be a drag, thought Louella. "Okay, Dad, let me give the doctor a call and see what she says, and I'll get the prescription for you if she says that's what you need."
"Thanks, Lou! Don't know what I'd do without ya!" They hung up, and Louella called the doctor's office.
"I'm sorry," said the receptionist, "but if you need a prescription refill, your Dad will have to come in to see the doctor."
"But why? It's the same problem as before!"
"Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn't," said the receptionist. "But no matter what, that's the new rule. We can't afford to take these kind of calls for free any more. We need to charge you for the visit."
Louella took a deep breath, trying not to let her annoyance show in her voice. "Well, then, how soon can we come in?"
"Let me see.....okay, we have an opening in three weeks, at 3 o'clock on the 31st. Is that good for you?"
When is a doctor's time frame ever good for me? Louella groused inwardly. "That'll be fine," she said. "We'll see you then."
She hung up. This had better not be something worse than an infection this time. Because if it is, Dad will have lost three months of potential treatment time.
She considered whether she should just drive across town to pick up her Dad and take him to the E.R. at Hopkins. The ploy had worked the last time. She picked up the Sun and located the TV listings for the night. "E.R." was on. What a coincidence, she thought. I don't want to miss that. Dad can wait another day. I'm beat.
--TO BE CONTINUED--
