Breaking Point

  This past summer my primary doctor referred me to an orthopedist for pain along the tops of my feet. After series of X-rays, he said it was arthritis, offered me toe surgery, but I said no thanks. I'd wondered, I said, why my feet were  suddenly painful. He, in all his wisdom, said I'd reached the "breaking point." Bah, I can live without that diagnosis.
   Today was a day of breaking points. I'd survived the horrific crashing the night before of thick ice jams descending onto the front of my house.
  I had a 9:00 a.m. appointment with Dr. F.. He'd wanted me to repeat a field-of-vision test because of less than optimal findings from testing a month ago. I arrived on time, had the necessary testing, all in good time, less than an hour. Then I sat with the fishes for over an hour, until finally a hefty male tech called me into a room. I tote my stuff into the examining room, thinking at long last. But he only asked me a single question:  my doctor was "running late." Would I be willing to see one of their other doctors instead. I said absolutely, and then I was sent back to the fishes again.  After another wait, the available doctor entered and told me all was well with the tests, improvement over last time. I'm scheduled for a visit in 6 months with my original doctor, though I have a feeling maybe he'll be there and maybe he won't.
     I noticed on the drive home that the water is dangerously high opposite Riverview Drive, almost to the edge of the road. Indeed, the water level behind our house is as high or higher than I've ever seen it. And later in the evening, the water did rise over the road, which involved Road Crews using our driveway as a turning point so they could direct traffic around the flooded area. So that was the determining reason I didn't attend Andrew's Holiday Band Concert tonight.
   Home, I started receiving more than several calls(6) from the Danforth; he is out of touch and missing his home and his bed. B. is not doing well, doesn't seem to understand she cannot reason him out of his state of mind, and despairs that he can ever improve, can find no ray of the hope I tell her she should look for. While I am on the phone with her, Dave facetimes  to wish me a Merry Christmas, and when I tell him it's still 2 weeks away,he  says he would like to come home for Christmas. And. listening to B., he tells her, "Don't worry about Don."  I will investigate possible transportation for him tomorrow, I hope.
   My email tells me that the gifts I ordered for the 4 little granddaughters were first delayed and now cancelled. I can't shop in person, will feel like Scrooge.
     I had ordered a box of Christmas Cookies to be delivered to the VVH, supplying address and telephone number of the nurses' desk. A short time ago, I accepted a package from UPS. It is the cookies I ordered, sent here instead of to the designated address.  Maybe I'll open the package and eat my way through it.