At Least We Aren't Lesbian Lovers
Sigh. If we were, I'd start a crusade. As it is, I'm merely flummoxed.
Sharon's surgery should be taking place right now. She and I talked on Friday, and agreed that I would be her goto gal for details, etc.
So, I called to check on her and have spent a good 10 minutes getting the official runaround. I know that she signed the form allowing them to give information to anyone who calls, because she said she would. Sharon does what she says she will do. You can count on it.
Yet, I've been transfered to this desk, that room and those people over there. I'm not family and even if I were, apparently they don't give information over the phone. Since I'm not family, I'm apparently not allowed to come wait in the Waiting Area.
They've told me I can speak to her directly, and I plan on doing that as soon as I divine from these tea leaves here that she is out of surgery. (Apparenly, I am only allowed to consult protopagan forms of information, since the modern conveniences of telephones and English are useless to me right now.)
I look forward to our first official morphine-laced conversation.