The end of dorm life

FYI, most of the husbands in Florida are immune to COVD 19. Just ask their wives, myself included. 

This virus will not be touching Hubby Tom, and he does not need to quarantine.

He goes to work each day. He works out at the gym at work. He frequents the grocery, and Home Depot, and Walgreens, and Walmart Marketplace, and--yeah, you get the picture.

Me: "Can you imagine if your dad had to be doing what we do every day? The man would come unhinged!"

Darcy: "WE would come unhinged. Let's be thankful he's working."

Saturday came, and there was no work. At noon, while the rest of us were watching Friday's late-night television online Instagram episodes, Tom stood and announced he could not just sit around. 

Tom: "What's going on with the stuff in the garage? Is all of that ready for the storage unit?"

Darcy: "No. I've gone through some of it, but that's not the stuff going to the storage unit."

Tom: "Where is that stuff?"

Darcy: "Still in my dorm."

Tom: "Why don't we go up and move you then from the dorm? It's a good time to do that, isn't it?"

Uh? Have you heard about the quarantine?

But after a lengthy discussion and after discovering if she didn't do it within the next month, she'd never see her stuff until sometime in May, Darcy and her boyfriend joined Tom and headed back to college.

Me: "Take a bottle of hand soap, and every time you get back into your dorm, wash your hands for twenty seconds or more. And don't touch your face. And Clorox everything. And then put it out in the garage where we will Clorox it again. And then all of you will have to strip down outside and run into the shower."

Tom: "You're staying here, right?"

The campus was deserted. No one in Darcy's dorm was moving out, although they did see two other kids in nearby dorms lugging out their rooms. They had to take suitcases and laundry baskets since the campus bins were not available, but they cleaned and stored Darcy's dorm in two cars in less than two hours.

After a little over six months from moving her in, the kid is moved out and home where she thought she'd not be until after she graduated college. 

Summer classes have already been designated for online. Her two campus jobs are on hold. The dorms are closed. She is officially out.

And within two hours of returning home, Tom was taking the stuff to the storage unit. And returning home with groceries.

Guess we should be thankful the men in Florida are COVD 19 immune.

Fingers crossed!

Quarantine week three, day fifteen

For several days I avoided the news. It made me too anxious, and my solution was the old adage, no news is good news. That lasted two days before I hopped back on to check sites for any information from the world, family, and friends of varying degrees.

Now, instead of checking in on Facebook every month, I'm logging in daily for the very reason I stopped using this site--post sharing. Suddenly I can't get enough of the information my "friends" want to share with me, and my husband and children will tell you they are suffering.

I watched a YouTube video of a doctor in Michigan who showed me how to clean groceries and how to unload take-out food properly. Immediately, I stopped my husband from bringing in the groceries and assembled a line from the front door to the kitchen where we washed and sanitized each product.

I read an article from The New York Times from a writer whose 56-year-old husband is home with the COVD 19 virus. She describes their day in assisting him, and I cried through the entire article. Then, I came up with a plan in case one of us falls victim to the virus, and added fever-reducing medications and hand soap to our Target carry-out order.

I've mourned the deaths of celebrities (some from the disease and others not). Alexa has played so much country music from Kenny Rogers and Joe Diffie that my daughter's boyfriend answered that genre as my favorite in one of those Facebook quizzes, and I can't tell you the last time I turned on a country station.

I listened to a Zoom cast of a doctor in New York who gave me tips on protecting myself and my family, and then I caved in and allowed my friend Jim to drop off a box of the masks he purchased two months ago when he first read about the virus in China. And by drop off, I mean, I told him to drive by my house and chuck the box out the window, where I then disinfected the entire thing as I learned from my YouTube doctor.

And don't even get me started on watching my stock market app!

What I have not done is all of the things people on social media suggest. I haven't played cards or board games. We haven't unpacked the puzzle we started when quarantined in our Wyndham, and we haven't binge-watched Netflix since The Circle. My kids have not set me up with Tik Tok, and I barely read. Yes, that's right. The woman who consumes at least ten books a week has not been reading for pleasure!

Last night while lying in bed staring at the ceiling because sleep only comes in patches now, I called it quits. Something had to change, and so, I dragged myself out of bed when the alarm went off this morning and added ten minutes to my walking route. I allowed myself an hour for a social media/news check-in with my iced coffee (the weather here is 85 degrees), and then I walked away, washed my hands, Cloroxed the kitchen, started laundry, and am now sitting down for office hours.

Here's to the third week of quarantine being rainbows and unicorns!

She was our resident seer for sure

My mother was what some now call a prepper. She wasn't too extreme, but she did plan ahead for something catastrophic. We had a basement with a utility room, and in one corner of that room, she stored her supplies, including specialized food, much like that of what the astronauts used in space, masks, matches, and lanterns. Everything was sealed in large, white boxes we knew not to touch.

I didn't understand until into my teen years precisely what she had and why. Before that, it was known to me only as a doomsday prophecy my father and a few others, thought silly. I don't know how many people she told, but eventually, she quit discussing it, although she never stopped warning people. 

Always have cash on hand.

Have something tangible to barter. 

Keep your gas tank full.

She was an extreme coupon clipper and the queen of BOGO. Every Sunday, she cut and organized, and then as the grocery stores released their ads, she planned accordingly. She bought in bulk from paper goods, cleaning supplies, health products, to storable food like canned goods and nonperishables, and the excess went on shelves my father built along one utility wall. We referred to it as Connie's market. When we ran out of something, she sent us to retrieve it from the basement. If it wasn't in the market, it went on her list to replenish that week. 

We also had an extra refrigerator/freezer and a large freezer in the utility room. The freezer was stocked with frozen meats from the cow we split with the neighbor, and with various other meats she purchased using her coupons, and the refrigerator carried items that would last longer than a month.

She had guns, and she knew how to shoot. 

With everything, my mother believed she had enough supplies to last a year in a shutdown of life as we knew it.

When she finally sold the house, she had to let go of her thirty-plus year stash due to expiration dates on the food and to downsizing into a smaller home in Florida. Even then, in her small condo, she kept one closet for her overflow. I'm still using her cleaning supplies, her dishwashing detergent, and her plastic sealable bags four years later.

Several months before she died, she predicted what has already happened in this country, from politics to the environment and to where we sit today quarantined in our houses.

Suddenly, those white boxes and that corner of the utility room doesn't seem so silly or blown out of proportion.

Quarantine week two, day three

We agreed late last night, Wednesday would be an exercise off day, meaning we were on our own. Darcy had shin splints from running, Oleg's quads were tight, and I needed a later wake-up call. Our good morning was not as cheery and uplifting as it was Monday and Tuesday. We are also consuming more coffee than usual.

So much for my New Year's resolution.

Madison's office is in the kitchen, and her day begins at eight o'clock--coffee with the staff where they discuss the previous day and the plan for today. The kids start arriving virtually for Madison's class by 8:30, and since we are in her office brewing coffee and making breakfast, she gives herself a fake background, so we aren't visible. The kids get a big kick out of thinking Madison is at the beach or fishing off a pier.

Today, Oleg went right to work. Darcy had a video conference call with her college advisor. In Florida, all state college students must do one summer of three courses, and this was to be Darcy's summer. Last night, her college officially announced it would all be done virtually, and so she had plenty to discuss with her advisor. My kid is not very happy about the interruption to her academic year.

I've discovered a handful of online entertainment sites on Instagram. I highly recommend Jimmy Kimmel! I watched those sites this morning poolside with my coffee before following Darcy down the street (she pretends she is walking to class) and then starting my day.

We've gotten outside for grocery shopping and a run to Walgreens last evening when I decided I needed a cocktail. We are being cautious and wash our hands and strip to shower upon our return. Today's outing is driving through Chick-fil-A for lunch.

All still better than losing my power during hurricane season, so I'm always thankful. Especially in our 80-degree heat!

Stay safe!

I did something right

When we traveled via car when the girls were little, I introduced them to all of the games my brother and I played on our own family car trips. My mother introduced them to educational games she made up on the spot such as giving out the state on a license plate and the girls had to give her the capital. My kids know the capitals of the route to Indiana quite well. Later, when electronics came into play, I'd give the history of passing landmarks and later throw out the trivia.

Imagine my happiness when Madison answered my trivia question regarding Florida's Polytechnic College, which we passed on the way to Orlando.

Madison: "It is the only college with a fully digital library."

And my happiness when Darcy began shouting out license plates for us to shout back the capitals. 

On the trip home, Darcy's boyfriend Oleg told us about a car game where each person finds the letters of the alphabet on signs starting with A and finishing with Z. He'd barely got out the rules and we were already ten letters ahead of him.

Darcy: "We know the game. It was a huge part of my childhood."

It's always a good feeling to know I've left a mark on my kids.

Quarantine - week two, day one

I made them say "quarantine" instead of cheese. They were not amused.

We left our suite yesterday morning, bright and early. We had to get special permission to go into Darcy's dorm, but she didn't have her medications beyond Spring Break, and the person in charge begrudgingly allowed her entrance, so we stopped there and took as much stuff as we could carry and fit in the cars. Her roommate had already moved out. It was forlorn.

Madison: "I feel like we just moved you in."

We will have to move her out sometime. Supposedly, they aren't doing that now, despite signs posted in the parking lot suspending parking fees for students moving out. We washed our hands every time we entered and exited, and I impressed the girls by using my feet to maneuver the elevators. We were in and out in less than an hour.

Tom is happy to have another male in the house. The two of them did manly things like take a trip to Home Depot for mulch. Again, the husband is not getting it. From the Depot, they picked up groceries, and then they did computer stuff.

This morning we hopped out of bed and met in the street for exercise. We stretched then each went our separate, social distancing, way. Madison had a virtual work meeting. Darcy and Oleg ran. I walked and then came home and did a burn video that included killing my abs. While everyone got ready to begin working, I watched our online church service from yesterday, and I have to say, it lifted me up and got me motivated to kick this quarantine shit in the butt.

Then we went to work.

We got this. Not sure for how long, but for now--we got this.

Are we almost done?

It's not even been a week of quarantine--and while it isn't much different than my daily life--I'm about over it. Yes, I'm whining--while quarantined at a resort in a three-bedroom suite that's almost as large as my house.

I spend the morning drinking coffee and reading my complimentary USA Today--which I've been notified will no longer be delivered to my door--on the back balcony overlooking the golf course. I spend the rest of the day on the balcony working. Might as well since the other options are coloring, television, reading, puzzling, or eating.

The only humans we see besides the occasional golfers are men. We have a group in the building next to us. They come out on the balcony for smoke breaks and are here for the golf. I know because I asked them.

I was desperate for a conversation with other people.

The other neighbors are two men next to us but one floor below. I rarely spot the one who wears a large brimmed sun hat, but his companion is outside daily and is always on the phone. He uses the speaker function 24/7, and I know everything there is to know about him, including his banking information.

That's a joke.

He drags his lounge chair off his balcony and sits alongside the giant sandtrap to sunbathe. And talk. Only once did golfers chide him. His response was to move his lounger on to the cart path. He was a rebel.

The kids exercise by running the parking lot and up and down our building's stairs. Each day the parking lot has lost cars as one by one people leave. We stayed because...four different walls. Then we stayed because we knew we were secure and germ-free. At home, my husband is working, and not really taking this whole thing very seriously.

Me: "When we get back, you're going to need to strip at the front door and shower while we wash your clothes."

Tom: "I think we have a bad connection. Can you see if you can maybe stay another week?"

My friend left early. She's in the healthcare field, has a senior in high school, and a son who was to get married in three weeks and who called off his wedding a few days ago. She was panicking and going home relaxed her.

Darcy's boyfriend lives in an apartment and has only a bike for transportation. I reminded Darcy that once we drop him off, that's it. I couldn't in good conscience leave him, so we're bringing him back with us. We've had multiple discussions on how to work it all out with one teacher teaching virtually, two college students learning virtually, one writer, and a dog.

We've mapped out desks and spaces and agreed we all need our own time alone. I shall be the mediator if times get tough. God knows, how long this will last. We aren't even at a week yet.

I'm going to miss my balcony.

Spring Break 2020

We planned Spring Break several months ago, and when we were unable to find plane tickets under $500 because we live in Spring Break tourist destination, we settled--on Orlando. We figured we'd use it as a home base and travel to other areas for day trips (St. Augustine was one). I secured a three-bedroom suite with my Wyndham points, and we began planning.

Then came COVD 19.

What to do. What to do.

I worried. I discussed it with health officials. But this was way before closings and way before our leader came to the realization this wasn't fake news.

By then, we were in Orlando--self quarantined in a resort.

At least we have four different walls to stare at daily, although it's day five, and the troops are a tad edgy.

We have a spacious suite. Here, in Reunion Resort, they are not units but suites. We have three bedrooms and three bathrooms, a sizable living area, a kitchen, and a balcony where I stare at the most massive sandpit for a golf course I've ever seen. If I have to be quarantined, there are worse places, I suppose.

Day one, we loaded up with supplies. Day two and day three were spent poolside with minimal people. There are eleven pools on-site, but we opted to only go to the pool in our area, and when more than ten people arrived later in the day, we headed home.

Day four was spent in our suite watching the stock market blow through our savings, and now on day five, we are going stir crazy. Do we go home? Do we stay? What to do. What to do.

One by one places are closing. Here, the pools are still open, but we aren't sure for how long. I received an email from Club Wyndham telling me to stay home, that the vacation experience I've come to expect won't happen. Uh???

Supposedly the pools are closed. Uh???

The fitness center did close today before Darcy got in her workout. Instead, we walked around outside.

We've put together three puzzles, played cards and board games, cooked every meal in our suite, and watched more HGTV, Lifetime, and Hallmark than ever.

I've colored in my Jason Momoa fantasy coloring book, and we've only left for grocery runs, and then purchased only what we needed.

We have requested and received more toilet paper. Thus far, apparently no shortage in Reunion.

We have a feeling our days are numbered. We spoke to a Wyndham employee who said as of Friday, they'd be released so perhaps we will be sent home then. As for now, we remain isolated in the resort, following protocol, washing our hands, only venturing out for necessities. 

Reality won't be so different at home for the girls and me. Not so for SueG who must return to work and Darcy's man who returns to the college campus.

Let's hope the will get worse before it gets better adage isn't true. I'm hoping, like the pollen on my tree, that this comes and goes quickly. Fingers crossed. 

NO! Not again.

Recently, during a discussion with my daughter and husband, I expressed my love for the now-defunct Picasa, Google's original photo organizer/editor. 

Me: "I only have it on my desktop, and if it ever disappears, I'll die because every picture I own is organized in there."

Tom: "You have it though in files on your computer, right?"

Me: "Yes, but I LOVE that program. I work on it daily. I couldn't live without it. I don't understand why Google had to replace it. I don't like Google photos. There is no organization, and it drives me crazy. Picasa makes me SO happy."

Yep, you know where this is going, don't you? 

My husband updated my computer a week ago. 

Tom: "It'll run faster, and I cleaned it up."

It's my own fault. I mentioned a few oddities I had discovered while searching for an old file. I wanted him to find the old file. He heard, "my computer needs updating, and it needs you to get rid of everything I hold dear."

It took me until Tuesday to notice my Picasa was gone.

Kaput.

Missing.

I had a mini-breakdown complete with tears, angry frustration, and a few choice words regarding helpful husbands.

Google Photos does not allow me to organize pictures. They do it their way by date taken, and their style is not helpful in any way, shape, or form. I do understand this replacement was so our photos could work across mobile devices and the worldwide web, but for me, organizing my photos by year and then into specific categories makes my life easier. 

That's why I love Picasa. My pictures are organized in such a way that when I need a photo, I can find it in a jiffy. That's how I discovered Picasa had been kidnapped off my computer. I wanted to tweet a picture for my brother's birthday...AND IT WASN'T THERE...IN MY PICASA...UNDER 1968 PA.

Once I got myself together, I began searching immediately for replacement programs. I found another person who agreed with me regarding the organizing side of Picasa vs. Google Photos. I spent the time I should've been working on finding a replacement. Finally, I texted my husband, who promised he would make it all better.

Luckily for him me, some sites still have the Picasa download. The husband downloaded it from a trusted site, and BAM, there were my pictures all nice and neat in their related files, and my world was back to normal.

Until the next upgrade.

Me: "How about next time you discuss with me before you sit at my computer to make improvements? How do you know what's important or not on my computer? Picasa isn't the only thing missing. And honestly, we just had this discussion about how important Picasa was to me. Out of everything, shouldn't you have made sure Picasa was still there? Never mind. Don't answer that. You weren't listening, were you? Or you heard the ocean? Or you forgot?"

Tom: "I'm thinking next time I'll check with you before updating."

Okay, so maybe he is learning...

Mail from a reader

I wrote a post about cleaning my oven recently due to a plastic bread tie--or, in this case, a potato bag tie. I hate these flat, plastic ties. Not only are they hard to put back on the bag--you have to twist the bag just so to get it between the notch to stay--they aren't useful. I can't use that thing to hold, say, electric cords, a stack of coupons, or even my hair. Whereas, those wire ties can do all of that and more.

Those ties are worth saving. I have a drawer full. When my mother died, I took her stash. I keep those that come in bulk with garbage bags. Because they're useful. They make sense. The others? Nothing.

Saturday, my husband showed me an app he got for his phone because a co-worker had told him about it. I don't know the name of the app--in all seriousness, I was only giving him fifty percent of my attention--but it's connected to the postal service, and it can tell you via a photo what was delivered that day in your mailbox.

I kid you not.

Like our Amazon delivery man, you can receive a picture of the mail in your box. So, in giving me this information, he showed me what was in our box. We had two pieces of mail. One was junk, the other was a card from my PA friend, Lois. 

I was excited. Not about the app, but about the card because Lois always sends little goodies in the mail like newspaper clippings about people and things she knows I like. I keep most of them. I have an article about Ben Roethlisberger (in my Steelers room) and one about Nancy Drew (in my keepsake box). So, it was with great pleasure that I skipped out to the mailbox.

To find only the junk mail. No card. 

Tom: "But it says it was there. Maybe it came yesterday?"

It didn't. I left him to ponder the hows and the whys while I worried about what neighbor had my mail and why they had yet to deliver it back into my hands. This happens. We have a regular mailman, John, but one in a while, he takes off on golf adventures, leaving us with a substitute. Sometimes I receive my neighbor's mail. All Saturday and all Sunday, I pondered the whereabouts of that card. 

I did it again today when I hiked to the mailbox while the dog did his business in our yard. Perhaps the neighbor would stick it in with my mail. Maybe John didn't see it on Saturday but he would today. Perhaps...

It was there! Inside a stack of mail was the tiniest card ever, and I had to rip the envelope just to get the card out.

What could she have sent? A new picture of Jason Momoa? An article on the NFL's CBA? A cry for help because her granddaughter had opened yet another gallon of paint in the backseat of her car?

I'm not going to lie.

I laughed.

Cyst saga II

Epidermoid cysts LOVE me. If you are a long time reader of this blog, you've read my 2016 cyst escapade, but in case you missed it or you're tuning in now, go here, here, and here, because we are about to embark on another. 

Several months ago, a pea-sized lump appeared just below the notch of my sternum between my breasts. I panicked, which now in thinking back, why? Why, after having been through the above, would I panic? But panic, I did.

Madison: "It's a cyst."

Duh. I felt foolish. I quit worrying. It just sat there.

My dermatologist appointment for my yearly skin check was last Wednesday. I love Dr. M. He has a great sense of humor (read the above here, here, and here), and he puts up with my bullshit. But his office could use my help. 

For the last three years, they've charged above and beyond my copay, and every time--EVERY TIME--the office mails it back a good six weeks to nine weeks after my visit. It annoys me, and when I've tried to reason with the money collector, last year the girl told me, "Who cares? We'll send your money back if we overcharged."

Everyone who knows me can't believe I walked away from her. But I did--seething.

Both my daughters go to Dr. M. and now, a month ago, my husband. None of them--NONE OF THEM are charged anything over their copay. Same family. Same insurance. Go figure. It's an airport patdown, a shakedown, and I keep bending over.

But I like Dr. M. 

So, I returned this February, and he checked me over from head to toe very thoroughly, and in the process of the examination, after he told me to "lay down," I corrected his grammar and gave him a lesson on lie and lay. God help me, but I did.

I became my mother.

He retaliated by squeezing my cyst.

No, that's a joke. I think.

He did squeeze my cyst. He grabbed my fat stomach and squeezed and squeezed, and cyst goop poured out. He didn't tell me he was going to do this, and when I felt him doing it, I did NOTHING. I blame old age. Even though I had not forgotten any part of my 2016 cyst escapade. But apparently, I had a small window of memory loss.

Dr. M: "I'm doing this because when I do the surgery later this month, it'll be smaller."

He wiped me with gauze, finished examining me, and then I signed an Ipad saying he could charge me millions of dollars to freeze something on my shoulder. At that time, I mentioned the payment issue and said I was going to charge him interest in keeping my payment so long. He told me to speak with his billing department. We parted ways.

I was charged $223.06.

Her: "And you have a deductible of $650.00 for the surgery. Do you want to wait to schedule that?"

Yes. Yes, I did. I left there seething once again.

After running some errands in germ infected places, I returned home, where I washed my cyst with hydrogen peroxide and put on Bacitracin, covering it with a bandaid.

Thursday morning, I woke up to a yellow and purple cyst and area. Friday, I was in pain and took off my bra by noon. Saturday and Sunday I went braless because the cyst was so painful. But there was no fever. Monday, Madison had her cyst behind her ear removed by Dr. M.

He did a great job. I can barely see it when I clean and wrap it. Madison said she told the nurse about my cyst.

By Tuesday, the cyst looked red and swollen.

Madison: "That's nasty. You should call them tomorrow."

Darcy:

Wednesday, I called the office and pushed the line for critical care. I left a message at 8:00 a.m. By 4:50 p.m., having never heard a peep from Dr. M.'s office, I was calling my neighbor's dermatologist for an appointment. They didn't answer.

Really?

This morning I called Dr. M.'s office and requested an appointment. The nice girl who answered the appointment line told me she'd get me in with the nurse. Uh-huh, I've been down this road.

Me: "Great! See you in an hour!"

It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. The office staff couldn't have been more different--cheerful and delightful. I was checked-in, called in quickly, and when the nurse saw my wound, now red and with some protruding spots, why, yes, I took a photo.

That's on my stomach. It is not a nipple.

Nurse: "Okay, let's get you in a gown, and I'm going to go get Dr. M. since he squeezed the cyst on Wednesday."

Me: "We're blaming him?"

Nurse: "Absolutely."

I waited. Dr. M. came in, and without looking at it, apologized. I accepted it. Then I reminded him of the 2016 cyst escapade. I told him I wanted an antibiotic if he planned to lance it.

Me: "I know you don't remember, but I was sick. Very sick. For three days. I can't do that again."

Dr. M.: "Okay, so this is maybe more than staff bacteria on your skin, and me opening a hole for it to dive in."

He took a look.

Dr. M.: "Oh, boy. That's infected. I'm so sorry. Let me lay you back. That's correct, right? Because I'm putting you down. If I told you to do it, I'd say lie. Lie down?"

I squeezed his arm like my mother once did when she passed Hulk Hogan in a restaurant during his troubled times.

Me: "It brings a tear to my eye that you took my lesson to heart, but please, I am so sorry for correcting you. That was wrong of me."

Dr. M.: "Are you kidding? Ask my staff, I'm constantly correcting everyone's grammar. I'm the Grammar Police at this office. I loved it. I love learning."

Me: "Yes, but my mother always did this to doctors, and it annoyed the hell out of me, and now I'm doing it."

Dr. M.: "You're afraid you're becoming your mother? It's fine, but I'm going to have to lance this cyst. Make a big hole. I'm sorry. It's my fault."

I signed the Ipad and kept my lips pressed together. Dr. M. numbed me, then he cut me, then he numbed me again because I felt him slice me, and then he squeezed.

Dr. M.: "Oh, boy. There it is."

I looked. Green goop sat on my stomach. Yucky, bacterial, green goop.

Me: "Yeah, that's infected. I'll need an antibiotic."

Dr. M.: "I'll give you one."

He squeezed and pressed. 

Dr. M.: "Oh, there came some fat. You didn't know you'd get some liposuction today too, did you?"

Me: "Squeeze harder!"

Then he scraped. Supposedly, he got the cyst wall too. (Read above...I have my doubts). Then he and the nurse packed it with the packing gauze and covered it. I'm not to shower.

Oh, boy.

There will be a hole. I am to remove the packing and shove in some prescription cream. The wound will heal from the inside out. (Read above...it did before, fingers crossed it does again) I took the antibiotic as soon as I got it. The pain is miserable. I have to recline without a bra and hold my saggy boobs up because of PAIN, PAIN, PAIN. 

I pray this is the end of this saga. No 2016 repeat. He promised me I could go on vacation for Spring Break and swim. He'll see me back in a month.

I only paid my copay after explaining everything to the money girl--the same one who got me in to see the nurse today. 

I made my next appointment for a Thursday. Apparently, that's the day to go. Here's hoping the magic lasts!