I know. It's been months. And I haven't been bone idle, either. Have I got news for you!
First things first. The door that I've justifiably complained to everyone who has any power anywhere finally was replaced-after six and a half months of verbal threats from me (you can see how much good that didn't do).
The problem was that the workmen brought the wrong door. Yes, you read it correctly. They ripped out the broken door and the broken door frame and then discovered that they had brought the wrong door. It was too small. Can you believe it?? So they tried to make feeble excuses about being given the wrong dimensions. Well. We know that didn't work. So they had to build a larger fame to fit the much smaller door, and then go back to wherever they keep the doors and get the right door numbers. Obviously they had taken someone else's door-and because they had already ripped out everything, they couldn't just leave a big hole while they tried to find the right door. So it took them six and a half hours, there was dust and dirt flying everywhere (it took days to clean up the mess), and that was it.
The kicker? A few days later I got a phone call from the door manager. He is one of only two people in the entire council -in all the years I've been there-to actually apologize. He said that he searched and found the right door: the right size, color and numbers. I said thanks for that, I can live with the new door-only I do keep opening it and smacking myself in the face, because it opens on the other side. I was being facetious but he took it seriously. He then asked me if he could send the men back the following week to replace the wrong door with the right door. He would be happier. So I agreed. Poor guy really seemed upset.
The door was replaced. The frame was removed and destroyed, a new frame (the right size!) was installed and the new door fitted. Four and a half hours-and more hours (days, actually) to clean up the mess. There was dust everywhere, even though I closed the doors to every room. But the door now looks fine, it works, it opens and closes, and it locks. I'm allegedly much safer now.
That's the door story, complete as of yesterday. The second team left cables hanging from the ceiling inside the front door, and the ceiling around the front door needed painting. Again, I could have just found someone else to do it; the manager was insistent. What a hero!! The painting is done, the cables have been secured, and NOW the door story is hopefully ended. What a relief.
If only everything else in my life wasn't up in the air, it would be a bloody miracle. Just when I thought that all the different consultants would say "see you next year"-no such luck. I had a failed biopsy-after the imbecile Dylan broke the port last year when he had a tantrum, the woman doctor who did this biopsy couldn't find the nodule. She couldn't find anything it it was the size of a dinner plate. And there were two of them.
The shorter version: another PET scan showed two nodules-malignant ones. So I've got cancer again. I will have surgery in three weeks. The same consultant as last year will do the honors and I will have to stay in overnight. Fortunately, he's got a sense of humor. I was so unhappy to have to go through this again, that I just looked at him and said: please don't remove anything that I really need, don't leave me with a stroke, frozen shoulder or a drool, and by the way-this time I want morphine". He did see the funny side, and he said that we'll negotiate on the day. When he asked if I've ever had morphine I said once after major surgery twelve years ago. I don't remember it, but I've heard it's quite nice.
So now you're up to date-even with the not-quite-exact quote from the film Jaws. I certainly will never ask: what could possibly go wrong??
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