After eighteen months of pain and disability; after a year of anguished uncertainty over whether the pain and disability would ever end; after FOUR tries to engage with a medical professional who would both agree that I had a problem and help me solve that problem in a knowable amount of time; after seriously considering spending $20,000 plus the cost of an eight day stay in Quebec in order to end my suffering, I now have a surgery date, for a procedure in Toronto, at no additional personal expense over the cost of the transit token to get me to Toronto Western Hospital. Plus thirty bucks for iron pills to fortify my red blood cell count.
My surgeon is Dr. Nizar Mahomed. Right now, he is one of the top ten favourite people in my life. On August 17, 2016, for about an hour and a half, he will be number one.
But enough about me.
It's been a couple of weeks since we last checked in on our friend the Ruler and her Advisors. Let's see what's shaking in the land of the Yessir Yessir Highway.
*******
The Ruler of a small but pleasant realm was seated at her meeting table with her advisors gathered all around. In the middle of the table towered a massive stack of paper.
"Is this all of it?" asked the Ruler.
"It's all there is for now," answered one of the Advisors, "but work is ongoing; there may be more."
"More," said the Ruler, "that's really all we need is more." She turned to Chappie, her most trusted advisor.
"Is the Emissary from the Power in attendance?"
"Yes'm," answered Chappie, "He waits in the vestibule."
"Bring him in. Let's get this over with." The Ruler rose to her feet, straightened her robes and planted a big, fat, fake smile on her lips.
The Emissary from the Power cut an impressive figure. Tall, head shaved smooth as an egg, his uniform emblazoned with the insignia of a senior ranking officer of the Power but not garishly so. His presence was imposing, but tasteful.
"Welcome to my Realm," said the Ruler, following the spoken protocol but forgetting to curtsey, "I hope your journey was pleasant."
"Without trouble," answered the Emissary, keeping up with the protocol, but forgetting to bow, "I am honoured to be here as your guest."
Pleasantries dispensed with as cursorily as possible, the Ruler and the Emissary got down to brass tacks. They took their seats at the meeting table.
"Here are all the templates that you have requested," the Ruler said to the Emissary, reading from the notes prepared for her by the Wizard, her most skilled improvisor.
"Each template is filled out to the last detail. As agreed between my boss to the fourth power and your boss to the sixth power, each of these templates has cost my advisors at least one career month - so that the time spent on this noble effort constitutes a Significant Sacrifice.
"According to the terms of the Great Treaty of Why Can't We All Just Get Along, each Significant Sacrifice is equal to one twelfth of a calendar year of peace between our realms.
"By my reckoning," summed up the Ruler, "This stack of templates means I won't see you again for another thousand years." The Ruler, her speaking notes ending at this point, assumed the meeting was over and started to gather her things to go.
"That may be so," said the Emissary from the Power, for whom the meeting did not seem to be entirely done, "but first we have to read them all and make sure they are correct."
The Ruler turned to the Wizard who had been quietly standing by.
She asked, "does the Great Treaty of Why Can't We All Just Get Along provide for proofreading?"
"No ma'am it does not," said the Wizard.
"Then I'm afraid I can't help you," said the Ruler to the Emissary from the Power. "Please take your templates and go."
Stung, but still poised, the Emissary from the Power rose with dignity from the table. He asked his advisors to lift the towering pile of templates into the wheelbarrows he had brought along.
"I'd hoped that this might have ended better," said the Emissary, turning to leave the Ruler's presence, just the slightest hint of a threat in his tone.
"Be grateful for today's outcome," said the Ruler, working hard to keep any tone of threat from her voice. "You have the equivalent of a thousand years of peace in those wheelbarrows. Most people would think that was a pretty good day at the office."
"We'll see," said the Emissary, his tone definitely darkening.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," replied the Ruler.
To be continued ...
Thanks for reading!
Have a great week!
Karen
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