Or should it be TO Hell?
    At first, it was just the normal things: a corroded pipe sprung a leak that cost us $58 worth of water before I could fix it with rubber tape and a pipe clamp, blown circuit breakers every time Diane turned on the clothes dryer, piles of stuff lay all over my library because we never had time to finish cleaning it up in our failed race to make it to Oklahoma City on time, mold all over our bedroom because somebody closed the door, another leaky pipe causing a wet puddle in the living room,  the kitchen lights all needing to have the plastic panels removed for replacement, the grass unedged since May, the pastic tool cabinet I put on the side of the house broken open and surrounded by grass two feet high, our computer monitor finally crapping out, and my having to soak in a cold pool to keep from puking and having to empty my bladder every 45 seconds.
     I thought I was better on Sunday, as the constant need to urinate had been surpressed by the use of Uristat and the painkillers I had, but when Freddy and I left Orlando on Sunday evening, the pills had worn off and I didn't dare take more painkillers while driving.  (Diane had already left in the other car.)  Two minutes after we pulled Rocinante out onto route 50, I needed to urinate.
    It was a long ride home, over two hours, so I tried my best to hold my pain and not stop.  The miles went buy, particularly difficult for me as we passed spot after spot where we had pulled over on Saturday, remembering how I had returned all that Chinese food onto the grassy shoulders, over and over again.  Now a different wave of pain invited me to pull over.  We had to make six or eight stops that night--for awhile, I didn't think I'd make it home at all.  I even tried wrapping my member in wet paper towels, thinking it might work to lessen the pressure, as had the swimming pool the night before.  Finally, I took one of tghe pain pills.  I figured if it got me tired, we could just stop on the side of the road and take a nap.
    But the pill didn't make me tired.  It didn't do anything.  After nearly three hours on the road, Freddy decided to make dinner.  He fried up about a score of Taquitas while I tried to focus my mind on other things--music, movies, past sexual experiences, anything.  But we kept having to stop.
    Then, magically, the pressure from my bladder eased off.  Maybe there was something in the Taquitas?  If so, I take back everything I said about those Mexicans in Las Cruces.  Maybe the pain killers needed food to make them work.  I did get pretty drowsy when we got home.  I jumped into the pool.  I ad to get some sleep,  We had to get up at 5:00 am to pick up a few things in Websters.
    I didn't feel too badly Monday morning.  Diane did the driving, so I loaded up on pain pills.  We found a few items that seemed to fit our new Cat show outlook, including some really nice Asian outfits for little girls with "Hello Kitty" designs, and some nice looking purses.  I didn't feel sick again until we headed home, when I agreed to go see a doctor.
    When we got home, about 10am, the first thing we did was check out the mail.  Great.  The company from which he had purchased $300 worth of cat items refused to ship them because we don't own a storefront, even though several other cat vendors we met in Colorado sell them.  Nice.  Next, All-State is cancelling our insurance because the Internent Banking service at SunTrust Bank was too slow getting their payments to them.  Next, we called the phone number on our Humana card and were told that our doctor doesn't take Humana anymore, too bad, sorry.  Ace Deuce craps, as Frank Sinatra said in "Suddenly."
    Diane called All-State.  The office in Palm Harbor seems to be run by idiots now that the woman who sold us our many policies retired.  They couldn't explain why the charges each month were different.  I called Humana.  They said, "If the doctor doesn't take Humana anymore, they must have another doctor to take his place."
    "Not according to them.  They said I have to call you."
    "I can give you a list of doctors for you to call to see if any of them will take you as a patient."
    "You want ME to call a list a doctors to see if anyone will take me?  The County is switching to ETNA in January.  Who is going to take us on that basis?  Besides, I am in pain NOW."
    "You can go to the Suncoast Medical Center.  They will see you."
    "Thank you."
    As I made another trip to the bathroom, Diane called the Medical Center.  I was still "bleeding the lizard," as they say, when she walked in, cast a pittying glance downward, and said, "Let's go.  The Medical Center will take us now."
    We headed up route Nineteen to the Suncoast Medical Center where we had to wait about an hour.  Diane spent most of the time on the phone trying to get things straight with the cat dealers and All-State.  She was in the parking lot on the phone when they finally called me to the desk.
    "I'm sorry, but we do not take Humana patients."
    "You don't take Humana?"
    "No."
    "But Humana sent me here."
    "That's impossible.  We don't take Humana here."
    "Then somebody is an asshole, wouldn't you say that?"  Before she could answer, I stormed out.  I had been controlling my bladder for nearly an hour because I knew the doctor would need a sample, and it had not been easy."
    "What happened?" Diane asked.
    "These assholes don't take Humana," I said, tossing in a few extra expletives I thought, as did Nixon, were best left out of this document.  "Let's go to Palm Harbor so I can talk to that insurance idiot face to face."
    Fortunately (for somebody) we stopped at a local All-State office we had visited before.  This local office was staffed with intelligent people who discovered where the error had been made and helped us put the whole thig back together.  They couldn't guarrantee that the company would lift its cancellation, but they did all they could for us.
    Meanwhile, I called Humana again, who told me Suncoast Medical Center was contracted to accept Human patients as "urgent care" patients with the usual co-pay of $25.  As this was half the cost of emergency room help, we went back, and signed in as "urgent care."  The people behind the desk frowned when I showed up.  One woman called Humana and stayed on the phone for what seemed like 45 minutes trying to straighten out the confusion.  Finally, after a wait of several hours, I was seen by Dr. Plummer, an excellent doctor who, believe it or not, was our primary care provider nearly twenty years ago when we lived further south.
    Dr. Plummer gave me a perscription for a strong antibiotic which made me fell a lot better.  Two days later, after hours on the internet and three more phone calls, Humana finally gave us a primary care physician.  Dr. Plummer wanted me to see a urologist, but in order to get it covered, I have to see the new primary care doctor first, pay him, then get the referral.  I figure I'll wait and see what happens before I pay all that extra money.  As I said, I'm feeling a lot better right now.
    I slept Monday night, all night long.

    I never planned on writing this chapter.  I figured the story of this summer was over with chapter nineteen, but the day was so outrageous, I had to share it.  Now things are back to normal.  Diane is back to school teaching, and I'm cleaning up and home and preparing to home teach Freddy.  If anything comes up that's worth sharing, I'll be back.  Until then, good luck, my friends.

                                                                                     WFS
 CHAPTER 21