Now that things seem to be settling down a little bit, at least with the website at least, I’m gonna try to get back to the funneh. So let me tell you a little bit about the experiences I’ve been going through since my arrival in Florida.
First things first, let me express my gratitude to my great friend Liz who has provided me with a roof over my head, food and invaluable assistance in making my way through the VA system.
A system which is neither efficient nor quick. It also lacks any semblance of common fucking sense. You see, I’m going through them to get my treatment for depression, my vision (or lack thereof) and some anxiety (both pre-existing and actually being caused by the system and the Florida DMV) and my otherwise general health.
My general health seems to be the best of the bunch. My blood work says I’m in great shape, my liver is functioning as it should (don’t ask me how in the hell that happened) and I’m not teetering on the edge of diabetes despite the bag of gummy bears I ate before the blood test.
As for the rest of the diagnosis-seses, I believe the chart said “This dude is one fucked up individual”. I may be paraphrasing there, but I don’t think so.
Which to most of you, isn’t exactly a news flash.
So far (and this is in the last week and a half), I have had 2 psych consults, one health consult and 2 trips to the ER which is where they tell you to go when you run out of the anxiety meds (which they give you 3 of to last you a week) they give you.
The psychologist is awesome and I’ve enjoyed talking to him and he has some good plans. I look forward to working with him some more in the future. Unfortunately, he can’t give me drugs but he knows the people that can, so we’ll work with that.
Now here is a little bit of family history you probably don’t want, but here it goes anyway. For whatever reason, my genetic code treats any kind of medication as though it is a minor nuisance and immediately rejects it. It doesn’t eject from my body or anything, it simply does NOTHING.
For example, some people can take 0.5 mg of Xanax and turn into a complete zombie. A happy zombie, admittedly, but a zombie nonetheless. In my case, you can give me 2.0 mg of Xanax and you may as well have given me an aspirin, because it’s going to do nothing. At all. I’m not even gonna get tired. So we begin the test of who is going to win the dosage battle.
Doc: “I’m giving you 0.5 Xanax to help you settle down.”
Me: “Can I take 6 of them at once?”
Doc: “Um, NO!”
Me: “Well then it ain’t gonna work.”
Doc: “Nobody needs that much. It’s an overdose.”
Me: “Then can I get 2.0 Xanax? Then I can just take 3.”
Doc: *rolls eyes*
(If you can get a doctor to roll her eyes, you are the SHIT!)
Doc: “Ok, I’ll give you 1.0 Xanax and I’m giving you 2 pills.”
Me: *rolls eyes*
Let’s keep in mind here that I have not “built up a tolerance” to Xanax. I’ve taken the drug possibly 3 times, in my entire life. Always with the same result.
Now let me also tell you that Valium was suggested. A drug that I have taken all of twice in my entire life, with GOOD results. The first was when I got my wisdom teeth removed and I don’t remember the better part of two days after that and the second time was when I got my vasectomy 15 years ago and although it didn’t knock me out, they pretty much could have performed the procedure with a chainsaw and I’d have smiled my way through it.
Of course, the doc voted for Xanax, because why in the fuck make me happy when she could much more easily keep her malpractice insurance premiums low.
This is why Ambien is the only drug that ever got me to go to sleep. And nobody will give me that shit anymore.
This is all after having waited in the ER waiting room for 4 hours. Because that is where the doc said to go when I ran out of medication.
“Just go to the ER if you need more.” said the sadistic bitch.
Because when you check in to the ER with the reason being “anxiety”, the first question they ask you is, “Are you feeling suicidal”?
To which my answer is, “No, but I reserve the right to change my answer after I’ve sat in that waiting room for 4 fucking hours waiting for a 3 minute doctor consult to get 2 pills that won’t work.”
At which point they check my blood pressure and tell me it’s high.
Also, I got a letter today telling me when my vision consult is so I can get new glasses. It is scheduled for sometime after I’ve been declared legally blind.
This is only the beginning of the VA hospital experience, so there will be more to come.
So we’ll move on to the Florida DMV . . .
THE. WORST. PLACE. ON. EARTH.
I want simply to get my Florida drivers license and get Florida tags for my car.
That’s all. It doesn’t sound that hard, does it?
So, the first thing I went for was my license. I brought my Colorado license with me, and my car registration, and proof of my new address. Sounds reasonable, right?
No. They want an original, notarized copy of your birth certificate, your old license, 2 proofs of your new address, your fingerprints and a recent DNA sample.
Mom, thank God, overnighted my birth certificate, I came up with 2 proofs of my new address (one may or may not have been completely legitimate, but it passed) and my Colorado license. At which point I was given a number and was asked to wait until I was called. I got the number G669. The number on the display board was E214.
And people wonder why I’m voting for Valium.
An hour and a half later and three phone calls to Michigan to attempt to track down a copy of my car title later, I was seated in front of the drivers license dude who said that I guessed the letters on the eye test mostly correctly and I had a Florida drivers license. Again, an hour and a half wait to make it through a 6 minute procedure.
I’m sensing a theme.
Now let’s get to the tags for my car part. For this I need:
- My Colorado registration (got it)
- Proof of Florida Insurance (got it)
- The car itself because they need to actually SEE the VIN number (got it)
- The Title to my car (PROBLEM!!)
So begins the search for the title to my car. I have the release of lien letter that I got from the bank telling me that the car is paid off, but that isn’t good enough for Florida. These are the places I went through to find it:
- I don’t have it. Not in my “important papers” box, not anywhere.
- My parents don’t have it. Not in their “important papers” places where they keep that shit.
- The State of Colorado doesn’t have it (3 phone calls there).
- The State of North Carolina doesn’t have it (2 phone calls there).
- The State of Michigan doesn’t have it (3 phone calls there).
- The bank that financed the car doesn’t have it (4 phone calls there).
The title to my car does not exist. My car is a figment of my imagination and yet it somehow drove me 1800 miles from Colorado to Florida.
Finally . . . FINALLY, I reached a wonderful woman named Alina at the bank that financed my car that said she knows where I can get a copy and I can get it done in just a couple days. She emailed me the forms that I needed to fill out which I promptly filled out, signed and assigned the credit card number to so they could process the request.
I saw yesterday that the charge to the Michigan DMV went through on my credit card, so apparently things are under way.
In the meantime, despite the fact that I am insured, licensed and not visually impaired (as far as they know), I still can’t drive my car because the Colorado tags on it are currently expired.
Or perhaps I should say, I probably SHOULDN’T drive my car because the Colorado tags on it are currently expired.
Not that I’m saying that I have because that would be illegal and wrong.
As far as you know.
So now I make the trek out to the mailbox on a daily basis to see if my title has arrived. When it does, I’m off to the DMV again to make yet another attempt to get tags for the car. They will find another reason why it is wrong because, that’s what they do.
I see thousands of cars on the road with Florida tags on them.
I am fully convinced every one of them was stolen, because it seems to be the only way to get one.
When the time comes and I have tags, I’ll have the rest of the story for you, but for now, I have come up with a solution that I think will work for everyone.
Put the Florida DMV and VA Hospital ER in the SAME DAMN PLACE!
You’re gonna spend 4 fucking hours there anyway waiting on something that takes less than 3 minutes to accomplish. It’s all about the efficiency.
“Hello, and welcome to the FLDMVVAER. Please take a number and feel free to utilize our benzodiazepine vending machine in the corner. You’re gonna be here a while.”
And “Are you feeling suicidal” should also be asked when checking in to the DMV as well.
Or maybe it shouldn’t.
Facebook post of the day: