Things change.
Things stay the same.
"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose".
I didn't know Jean Baptiste Alphonse Karr said that.
I have no idea who Jean Baptiste Alphonse Karr is.
But, no matter. Today has been warm, genuinely warm, in the mid 40's - which may seem total nonsense to my readers in warmer lands but is a real joy here.
Down in the Old Port, sitting in JavaNet's window you can see the brick of the streets, snowpiles are much smaller - everything underfoot is wet.
I had occasion to go for a quarterly blood test this morning. This is needed to track my diabetes and various other issues being watched. It's nothing outside the range of what most men my age put up with.
The big difference is the idea that I don't have health insurance to cover it.
COBRA payments only kick in if you've worked someplace for at least 18 months - I resigned from Lfield at the end of only one. Mind you I think getting out of teaching was the healthiest thing I've done in several years - being an "ed-U-ca-tor" was killing me - heart/blood pressure issues alone put me in the hospital for test twice in two years (and I didn't do it on purpose just to alliterate).
So I have to think through all actions that might have an effect on my health. Trip on the ice, break a leg, get kidney disease (Black Russians? Really?) or have any kind of major medical crisis and this simple plan for a year of transition could mean bankruptcy and real disaster.
At the same time I have to acknowledge (or my friends whack me upside my haid widdit) that I'm under much less stress, I have time to write music and words, I work in the Orchard with wonderful people both front and back of house - that I feel a comfort and grace that was lacking in most of my life for the last 24 years.
Isn't it strange?
My doctor's labs and offices have all been consolidated in a new building that rises 8 stories above Back Cove. I was up early after a 12 hour fast - had to have a banana at 2:30 in the morning when my blood sugar crashed and I got the shakes. It might ruin the blood test they drew for but at least I finally got it done.
Some more difficult was the "liquid sample" they needed. No one told me or I would have deleted activities from my morning routine that made sitting in the men's room an exercise in frustration.
Still, they gave me a sample bottle (which I immediately tucked into my fleece pocket) and said I could "drop it off later when you're done".
Like I was going to make a special appointment to drop off a jar of "liquid sample".
Still, it was nice to go to breakfast at the rebuilt Miss Portland diner - eggs and hash, part of a pancake.
Three cups of coffee and a big glass of water
Two glasses of water.
So all that made waiting for the elevator to go up to the lab a much more impatient experience than the first time.
This time the sample appeared with no problem and I pretended I was cheating on an NFL doping sample as I gave it to the bemused technician. I've written before about the general goodwill and humor of my doctor's staff and this was no exception. I love people who just "go with it" and jump into whatever madness is handed them.
So the fix is in. It only remains for the boffins to determine what my blood says and then we behave accordingly. Fortunately I have funds set aside for this until my status changes, one way or the other. It felt kind of neat and I was caught up in just having fun with the moment.
I even hopped down seven flights of stairs to get in my car and go home.
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