Ben Robinson

All About Ben

By Ben Robinson

I am not really smart enough to have so many appointments to keep up with.

For example, last week when I was at the doctor for my injured leg, they made my next appointment.

For the past three months I have been going to the doctor every Tuesday so my bandage can be changed. Since Tuesday is the deadline day for the Courier, I asked if I could change my weekly appointment to Thursday or Friday. “No,” I was told. “We don’t want to take any chances with your wound. We need you back in no less than a week.”

And no more than a week either, I guess. Then last week, when I started to make my appointment for this week, something came up. Thanksgiving. They had to get all of their appointments in just three days because their employees deserved to spend time with their families. They asked whether Wednesday or Thursday would be better for this week’s appointment. Wednesday I have a route delivering papers, so I said, “Thursday.”

I got my appointment card and read, “Dec. 2,” which when I read my calendar meant “Monday.”

I guess Thursday did not work out, so I got Monday instead.

The problem was that the appointment was at 2 p.m. It’s getting too cold outside for me to wear shorts to the doctor. And it’s not very professional to get blood stains on dress slacks. So I came up with the idea of shorts under my dress slacks. For the appointment, I would go to the Wound Center, slip off my slacks, let them work on me, then put the slacks back on to return to work.

I finally got to work and was working on a story when my cellphone rang. I answered. It was the girl from the wound center wanting to know why I did not show up for my 9 a.m. appointment.

I tried to sound intelligent as I explained that I had thought my appointment was at 2 p.m. I failed, at least on the sounding intelligent part. She set me a new appointment for 9 a.m. Friday. At least I am finally off the weekly Tuesday syndrome.

I am hoping to eventually be finished with the weekly wound center appointments. I fell at home, with the better part of a metal money box sticking into my leg. I actually made out better than the metal money box did. I was not thrown into the county landfill. There was no money in the box, and I had lost the key shortly after using the lock, so the box was basically of no use, except to be a hazard to me.

At first my leg was attached to a bag into which my blood would flow. Kind of a turnoff to girls, you know. “So is that your blood in that tube?”

But as it got better, it was replaced with a bandage that was changed once a week at the wound center. Eventually I got down to a bandage I could change myself, which is where I am now. I just go into the wound center, let them change my bandage, trim away any part of my wound that’s not healing well, then bandage me back up. Hopefully soon I won’t have a wound for them to trim each week, and I will be healthy again.