Vague whistling and humming noises were coming from Ford. "Well, well, well," he kept saying to himself, "Zaphod Beeblebrox . . ."
Suddenly Marvin stopped, and held up a hand.
"You know what's happened now, of course?"
"No, what?" said Arthur, who didn't want to know.
"We've arrived at another of those doors."
There was a sliding door let into the side of the corridor. Marvin eyed it suspiciously.
"Well?" said Ford impatiently. "Do we go through?"
"Do we go through?" mimicked Marvin. "Yes. This is the entrance to the bridge. I was told to take you to the bridge. Probably the highest demand that will be made on my intellectual capacities today, I shouldn't wonder."
Slowly, with great loathing, he stepped toward the door, like a hunter stalking his prey. Suddenly it slid open.
"Thank you," it said, "for making a simple door very happy."
Deep in Marvin's thorax gears ground.
"Funny," he intoned funereally, "how just when you think life can't possibly get any worse it suddenly does."
He heaved himself through the door and left Ford and Arthur staring at each other and shrugging their shoulders. From inside they heard Marvin's voice again.
"I suppose you'll want to see the aliens now," he said. "Do you want me to sit in a corner and rust, or just fall apart where I'm standing?"
I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I totally get Marvin. Get his attitude. Get his sense of humor. Get his funereal tone. If I were a robot, I'd be Marvin.
Finals week always drives me to this state. So much work to do, not enough time to do it. Then the e-mails from students start rolling in, each one wanting to know grades on papers and final exams. I understand these student requests. I, too, was one of those anxious, grade-obsessed students when I was younger. I wanted to know my grade the day that class ended.
Now, if I were a full-time professor, I would have been holed up in my office at the college, cranking out grades and sucking down caffeine. Unfortunately, I am a contingent professor. Therefore, grading is done before I go to my full-time medical office job, on my lunch breaks, and after I'm done working, before I collapse into bed at midnight. Then I get up at 5 a.m. and do it all over again. That is the life that I've chosen.
Today, I had plans to grade during my breaks at work, at lunch. Instead, I got a call mid-morning from one of my sisters. It seems that Rose, my sister with Down syndrome, had a major seizure this morning in bed. She was choking, foaming at the mouth. An ambulance was called. She was taken to the hospital.
You can imagine that the rest of the day consisted of texts and more texts and replies to texts and group texts. I got very little grading done today. My sister Rose was evaluated at the ER. Given an MRI. Scheduled for an EEG. Put on two anti-seizure medications. Discharged. Translation: they really didn't figure out what has been causing the seizures, just put her on some drugs and sent her home with fingers crossed.
If I sound a little frustrated, I am. Here comes the Marvin-side of my personality. I know healthcare. I've been working in the field for going on 25 years now. Never thought that I'd make a career out of it. Anyway, I know when people in healthcare are passing the buck. The buck was passed on my sister. Instead of trying to get to the bottom of her issues, they wanted an empty ER room. I saw doctors do the same thing with my other sister when she was suffering with lymphoma of the brain for almost a year-and-a-half before she was diagnosed. By then, it was too late.
I get very frustrated with America's healthcare system. It's not really about the patient. Ever. It's about insurance. And money.
My sister is at home. She's acting like her old self. Perhaps the medication she was prescribed will stop the seizures she's been having. That is my hope. And I'm ashamed tonight of being a part of a broken healthcare system.
This message has been brought to you by Saint Marty.
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