Tuesday, August 21, 2012

It's My Car, See, and I'll Cry If Want to....

You would cry too if you'd gotten the bill.  First, say hello to my car:



This is a 2006 Saturn VUE that has over 100,000 miles on it, and that I just finished paying for in July of this year.  Naturally, the moment the check cleared - kathunk, kathunk, rattle and shimmy like a Shindig go go dancer (anyone of the 3-12 people that read these entries get that yet?), and having a difficult realizing when to stop.  Then last week the sensor on the seatbelt went kerfluey (technical term) so I could not get out of the driver's seat as the belt clamp would not release.  Should I shout for help while I curse myself for not keeping a sharp knife in the car just in case this happens?  Well, its only 95 degrees in the car, so maybe if I pour out enough sweat maybe I can slither down the seat, leave me t-shirt there as a sacrifice, and then crawl over to the passenger side and make my escape.  The fact that I'm in the Home Depot parking lot, and of course in a handicap parking spot, makes looking for help somewhat useless.

By the way,  I've got one of these:


on my car.  And while not all of the time, I do try and park in the handicapped slot.  First, can we please get rid of that "handicapped" name?  The Merriam Webster dictionary defines "handicap" as "a disadvantage that makes achievement unusually difficult."  Look, I got to Home Depot in upstate New York in August during the Saratoga track season.  I caused no accidents or incidents.  I cut no one off, nor acted like I've never seen traffic before, nor did I drive like a banshee (if banshees could drive) because I am testosterone and/or alcohol filled twenty something nincompoop.  Achievement unusually difficult?  Local police, I am the least of your worries.  I also woke up today, got dressed on my own, made my own meals, and worked in my yard.  I can also type, sort of.  And I took all my pills.  I should get a red carpet rolled out.  Handicapped spot? How about a "You're Special" spot?

But all you get are those funny looks.  What's wrong with that person?  OK, old people I can understand, but that guy looks fine.  I find that I will sometimes pull a Homer Simpson, and limp a little more than the pain/discomfort/nerve problems call for as I get out of the car.  Especially if I'm with my wife in her car and she pulls into one of the "You're special" slots.  I slough along a bit to demonstrate that, yes, we're in that spot because the guy who's limping and walking slow is "special".

I have days when I park  a distance away, and make the stroll, if its not a bad pain day.  And then I eye those people in the "special" slots.  How come they have those ones that hang off the rear view mirror? When they'd get that, 1997?  Special people slots are for special people. Now.

So no matter where I park the car, its still how I get around and I finally bit the bullet yesterday, and took it to a dealer and got the litany of what's wrong with it and then sat four hours while most of it was fixed.  It's running better now and while its not the fastest car, or the most comfortable, (it was actually purchased to help take my wheel chair [special] bound mother in law to various doctor appointments - no longer necessary) it did get me back and forth on my 50 mile a day round trip to work and home, with minimal problem.  Saturns were always good like that.  Too bad the idea flopped.

So its running well and when I got the bill, I was starting to get that drained feeling that MS people get every day if fatigue is a factor in their lives.  The gentleman behind the desk was kind, and could see that all he was talking about was like he was speaking in Russian about differential calculus, so I merely asked him "Look, I need that car to get to doctor's appointments, and I've got a lot of them.  Will it do it?"

He just nodded.  "Yeah, its got at least another 50 thousand in it."

Miles, I hope. Not dollars. 

By the way, the seatbelt still needs some work, but I can get in and out.  And I was able to pick up my new drug, actually an old one. Nuvigil in its generic form.  New psychiatrist as well, and it will be interesting to see how his vision version works out.  He wants me to be the best bipolar I can be.  As long as there are no guns around.  All I have are non-working Star Trek phasers, though I know if I push those buttons in the right order....

More later.  850 checkins. Deeply appreciated. 

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