Gooder than new.
My doctor sent me to a cardiologist and before I even met her, friends of mine with connections at Penn, Jefferson, and Harvard medical schools, vetted her of their own volition. They reported back 5 star, top of the heap.
While I hadn't requested it, I have to admit is was reassuring when I met her. Very attractive, kind of a Stevie Nicks thing going on, with a Little Miss Sunshine positive attitude. Yeah yeah, I know, pretty women can have brains too. But damnit you know how first impressions and decades of cultural brain washing conspire against good judgment... you've done it... oh yes you have.
Anyway, it turns out she is a ringmaster worthy of Barnum & Bailey. She knows exactly what must be done, when, where, by whom, and makes it happen. Well we all know, shit happens. Doesn't faze her in the least, got it covered with plan B or C. No shit, she's that good.
Only one minor problem, and the fact I can bitch about it proves there was no big problem.
One of the primary tenets of my life is I don't ask people to do things for me I can damn well do myself. (OK, kinky sex doesn't count, gutter minds.
)
Along with that if I do ask a favor, I make damn sure to make the execution as simple, smooth and quick as possible. I'm
not the guy that asks you to help him move and has nothing packed when you arrive.
Anyway, to this end I went to the doctor's office the day before going in the hospital and asked for all the prescriptions I'd get leaving the hospital. That way the trip home is quick and easy. Yeah, I know there could be unforeseen shit, but most is known. Well I left the hospital with a handful of scripts, one(a narcotic) took two days to get filled.
Like I said, pretty minor bitch after major hospital shit.. amirite?