Alas but I suppose I must grit my teeth; have an appointment to have a filling done at the dentist's, requiring to-ing and fro-ing. There is the happy consideration that it should be done in under an hour. It is Thursday in the second week of Advent, and Holy Mass is of the feria, certainly in the calendar of the 1962 Missal (the 'extraordinary form' of the Roman Rite, as it is called) but also in the Traditional Rite, although there is a commemoration of Pope Saint Melchiadis, martyred in the early 4th century (CE, Introibo, Wiki); he was an African of Berber descent, so the historians say. It is also the third day of the Octave of the Immaculate Conception.
Dom Jacques-Marie Guilmard returns in this morning's 'digital Advent calendar' from Neumz.
Friday, post Tertiam. Dom Jacques-Marie Guilmard said that there are three MSS. of the Old Roman chant for the Hours and two MSS. for the Mass, or, tsk, the other way around. Am only 'opening this window' now.
Post Vesperas. An upset to my morning routine! indeed, I didn't get back to my cubiculum here until after 1500. The background is (as my gentle readers will recall) that my acquaintance R., with whom I worked at 'the office' before my retirement, is pursuing certification and so forth as a dental technician, hygienist, whatever it is, and as her coursework is completed she needs to practice her skills, ahem; I am one of her 'practice patients'. So when instead of a four hour appointment today she told me that I should prepare for 'an hour or so', well, I figured that the 'or so' would mean 'a couple of hours'.
Turns out I was her first filling on a live patient (apparently they have models of open mouths that they experiment with) and she did just fine, so far as I can tell, but she had an assistant, and at least two doctors supervising: it was just before 1130 when I was sitting up in the chair. Then R. dropped one of the drill thingeys and it struck her finger, drawing blood. This-- terribly minor injury though it was-- required the involvement of S., the director of the clinic, who decided that both R. and I should go off and have blood drawn for testing. When this was first brought up, in my mind I saw myself in the morning walking, at 0700, to the laboratory on Coburg Road where I have my own regular blood draws, and so I agreed. Nothing simpler. S. decided, however, that the tests had to be done today, on the day of the tragedy-- hence a trip to Springfield and to the McKenzie-Willamette Hospital emergency room. R. drove and at that point in my mind we are still more or less before noon, eh, no problems. It was in fact about 1300 when we got over there, and about an hour or so before the blood draw happened, and then 45 minutes or so before the HIV test result came back negative. And so, after 1500 when R. dropped me off back here.
I said the rosary, I checked my mail, I WhatsApped, I inspected all the equipment in the examination room, I made a trip to the restroom-- time flies as one gets older, and there were two interruptions, also: a nurse who entered data about my 'injury' into the machina, and a physician's assistant who came in and chatted briefly, apparently to confirm R.'s story. The PA did ask for the story but as I reflected about this Friday morning, her chief practical purpose was to let me know that the blood draw would happen 'soon' and that I was expected to remain in the examination room until the results were available, tsk. Where I pulled that 'confirm R.'s story' from, am not sure; a phrase's tone of voice, a furrowing of her brow, I don't know. My rich imagination perhaps; I haven't done any other embroidering here.
The first of the two amusing 'episodes' at the hospital was the fact that the ER doctor admitting this afternoon was named Keith... Sumey. Now there are probably two or three ways to pronounce that surname but the obvious way from my point of view is to pronounce it as it is indeed pronounced (as one of the nurses confirmed). For some reason I really did find 'Keith, sue me' hilarious. (I didn't meet him so wasn't put to the test.)
The second encounter was occasioned by the harried technician who actually drew my blood. She applied the incorrect labels to two (of five or six) tubes after they had been sealed up and had to remove and switch them; as she was doing this I, laughing, said to her that 'it is at this point in the television crime shows that the camera discovers the criminal'. She forced a smile but wasn't much amused, and said to me that, 'you watched me doing the changing!' as if there were some question about my comment having been made in any sort of accusatory way. She recovered her equanimity almost immediately thereafter but it was a brief uncomfortable moment or two.
And I made the billing specialist blush-- she was the last hospital person encountered-- because, after answering pages of her cheerful! questions equally cheerfully! she got to the 'how are you paying for this?' one and I replied in a quite definite tone of voice, 'I am not paying for it' and 'I am not providing you with the insurance policy number' and so on and so forth. I was mistaken to have supposed (as indeed I did) that after R. and I each of us had told the story to four, five, and perhaps six different hospital employees we were past that part of the day. But I exerted myself to be charming and we were chatting cheerfully! again as we exited the examination rooms corridor, she off to nail down the dental clinic's billing details and I to breathe freely the free air of Springfield. I wonder if I dare drink a glass of tea; I ate tepid macaroni and cheese before Vespers and even that made my new filling uncomfortable. But I've now swallowed three tablets of whatever it is, ibuprofen.
~~~
LDVM
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