The boyfriend and I took yesterday off to perform a humanitarian aid mission.
For ourselves.
In LA.
It wasn't for pleasure - we actually ganged up some doctor and dentist appointments. It's not that we don't trust the third world medical care available in Bako. Well, actually, that's part of it. But it's more about the fact that we've convinced ourselves that our stay in Bakersfield is just an unfortunate temporary setback. Why switch to a local doctor and risk leaving town in a few months minus a limb or major organ? Exactly.
Besides, we love our primary care physician. He's wise and kind and he sent us home with a boatload of anti-depressants. The doctor looked at the chart and noted that we were now living in Bako. My partner brought up the subject of maybe getting a little something to alleviate the blues and started to explain our situation, but then the doctor raised his hand and cut him off.
He knew.
He started writing a prescription and then stopped, looked up and said "I've treated people from Bakersfield... I'm going to give you something stronger."
Not only that, he scoured the office for every free sample he had because he feared a 60 day supply wouldn't be enough.
And they say you can't get quality medical care anymore.
We didn't do any shopping, because we're broke. I did take the liberty of getting a decent haircut. The Super Cuts hatchet jobs were starting to take a psychic toll.
And then we drove back.
In tears.
