THE PATIENT MAN

Another trip down to Chinese Hospital for appointments, for which I had the time wrong, so an hour and a half early, and Miss Mak helpfully managed to combine one appointment with a new consultation, seeing as my blood pressure is still too high.
Result: One more vaccination (unrelated to my actual physical condition), and a prescription for twice the strength of Amlodipine Besylate as last week's prescription. But honestly, I haven't felt so good in a long time.
I won't try to convince you that I've got vim or vigour.
But I am full of piss and vinegar.

Miss Mak is a smallish elfin person. I wonder how she stays warm wearing nurses scrubs. And she's charming when she wields a hypodermic syringe. Actually, everybody there is so nice, and miraculously maintain their sanity.

Especially upstairs in the pharmacy. It's not self-flattery when I say I am the calmest and least pushy old fart needing attention they see. Quite Possibly. Having dealt with "customers" much of my life, I realize that sometimes things cannot be instantaneous.


How long will I need to wait? Oh, in that case, I should go out and buy some vegetables on Stockton Street in the meantime. I shall return.


Yeah, I'm pretty happy with the level of care and attention I'm getting as a patient. And because they are so sweet and capable, I actually enjoy going down there for more needle-jabs and lectures about the evils of smoking.

Oh by the way, Miss Mak, did I mention I'm needle-phobic?

After dealing with my blood pressure, lab results, and my horrible diet which must change, I went to my bank, had lunch at a chachanteng (bitter melon omelette and rice, with hot sauce, and a cup of milk tea), tobacco in a briar pipe older than I am (my grandmother gave it to my father when he was at Berkeley after the war), and went back to have my prescription filled.

Vegetable shopping, pick up new medicine, then off to purchase a new back pack, because the Hello Kitty one is starting to wear out. This one is blue, and has Minions on it. It's perfect for carrying my smoking supplies and several pipes on working days. Styling, dude!

Followed by milk tea and a snacky poo.
Another pipefull. Second bowl.



Finished that smoke on the front steps in early evening, after the bus home. Ah, the goodness of tobacco, aged Virginia! A faint rain filled the street with a golden mist, the slanting light shining through the droplets, the glowing hued haze obscuring the trees a few blocks away. Glorious.
Puff. Puff. Puff. Contemplation.



Um, yeah. So I'm going to have to cut down on fried food, pastries, cookies, milk tea, and snacky things. That should be a piece of cake.




==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================