Irritate!

You may not have wanted to be around me yesterday (Tuesday). I was, uh, irritable. Yeah, me! Perhaps you may not have noticed my mood: I smiled, made pleasant and even humorous statements. I may have seemed like good ole' Charlie Brow...., a mean, jolly Sometimes Saintly Nick. However, below that exterior I felt provoked unto aggravation! Or something like that.



I felt irritated because people irritated me. The beginning of the day was excellent! When I opened my mail I found a check for a very small amount of money. Very small! However, it was still twice the amount I had in the bank. That check would seem a paltry sum to most, but I was excited because I had a vision of being able to pay the (seemingly) insignificant co-pay to refill my Rx for Furosemide, the medicine that I take for congestive heart failure. I had been concerned early yesterday morning because I had taken the last tablet of Furosemide and knew I did not have the small co-pay I needed to have it refilled for another month.

Do you realize the joy I had when I opened that envelope and found that small check which was four times what I needed for the co-pay? All I had to do was meet with three people who were coming to my house from the company with whom the Veterans Administration has a contract to provide oxygen to us lungers.

But that was the rub. The three showed up half an hour late for the appointment. And the stated purpose for the visit -- to check on the equipment that they supplied -- was, uh, a bit understated. They did much more than check the equipment!

When the three came through the door, I felt as if my home was being invaded. They went throughout my home, not only looking at the oxygen compressor and bottled oxygen that their company provides, but searching to see if I had a fully-charged fire extinguisher and working smoke alarms.

One alarm didn't beep when the commander-in-chief punched it with one of my sticks, so I handed her a nine-volt battery and pointed to the small ladder in the spare bedroom while telling her that I don't do ladders. She climbed the ladder and replaced the battery. Very good!

Up to this point I was annoyed by their lateness, arrival like a squad of Nazi Storm Troopers, and invasive behavior. However, what took place next really got me pissed off--uh, I mean irate.

The chief inquisitor began asking me all sorts of asinine questions, such as do I ever fall down, do I use my gas stove, do I understand how to operate the oxygen compressor (huh? I've been using an oxygen compressor since 1991), do I have emergency telephone numbers written down by the phone (hell no! I have them programed into the telephone!) What was my fire escape plan? (Well, if I am in the front of the house, I grab Alex and go out the front door; if I am in the back of the house, I grab Alex and go out the back door).

While I was being interrogated, one of the other three stooges walked into my bathroom and examined the expiration dates on my medicines. He commented that one would expire in about 4 months. And, I, feeling less and less saintly, replied that I will have consumed it before it expires. Besides, WTF do my medicines have to do with oxygen provision?

Then he asked me how much I weigh! And did I want to ask VA to rent an hospital bed for my use from his company!

Do you understand what was behind my increasing irritation? Why a began feeling like I want to live as a 100% hermit? How deep inside me some primitive spark flickered with the desire to chase them out of the house with one of my samurai swords? Why I wished that Alex (who cat napped through the entire invasion) was an attack cat, maybe a puma?


Well, I remained cool and even gentlemanly. I smiled and said appropriate things and even told couple of jokes... even though I had the desire to ask them, "WTF, do I appear to be a blithering idiot?"

After the invading troops withdrew, I glanced at my watch and realized that I had only about 25 minutes to make it to the bank before it closed. I did make it and I made it to the drug store and I obtained another 30 days of Furosemide.

Lord, I thank you that this day is over! Amen.