There are even more dents to my car than I thought, and pieces of wood are now driven into the windshield. Tiny pieces are part of the glass.
She could have died. The impact speed was at least ninety miles an hour. The shape of the windshield is the only reason it held.
While we were cleaning out the stuff we should keep (it's getting towed tomorrow, to a salvage yard--it'll be looked at by an inspector there), I turned it on. The engine is still perfect. None of the alerts were lit. The lights all still work (except the missing ones, of course). Even my brakes are still good.
We are so getting a Toyota again.
In brighter news, my parents are bringing out the van. They're taking the northern route, up through the Rockies and Wyoming, which is twelve hours more than the route we took before. They're still planning to be here by Saturday at the latest, and this with leaving at five tomorrow morning. I'm taking Sunday and Tuesday off, and working Monday morning so I can spend time with them. Insurance rate should be about the same, according to the message my agent left, and if it's no more than thirty days between the Echo being deemed dead and adding the van, I don't have to make a new down payment or anything. I do, however, have to name the van.
Still getting a rental tomorrow, though. Yesterday, I told a customer what happened to my car (he commented on the to-do list I was writing when he got up), and he gave me the number to an agency. Turns out they have the best under-25 surcharge
and the best rental rates of anyone we called.
I also saw my new rheumatologist today. She sort of hedged around directly saying I do have EDS (have to get genetically tested, NIH does that, etc.), but it sounded to both Geena and me like she thinks I have it; she just didn't want to give a firm diagnosis without that in front of her. She said there's no question that I'm hyperflexible, but I do not have fibromyalgia (thank god). I also have bursitis in my left hip, which is the inflammation of one of the fluid pockets around the joint. It's part of why my thigh has been so bad, but she's planning to more fully address that at my next appointment. For now, I have about a million medications a day--I also got in to see my psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with social anxiety disorder (SURPRISE) and gave me Ativan, as well as Zyprexa to prevent me from getting depressed (it's done that in the past, when combined with Lamictal) (it's going to make me gain some weight, too). Dr. Crowley (I could not make that up) gave me prescriptions for Ultram for the pain (it is an opioid, but it acts differently than Vicodin and Lortab, from what I understand) (its copay is insane--$58), namubetone/Relafen for inflammation, and doubled my daily dose of Lyrica. This is without restarting the fish oil or glucosamine/chondroitin/MSM, either. As it stands, I'm at eleven prescribed pills a day for the crazy and the body.
We really need to find my pill tray. Hell, we really need to clean, period, before my parents get here. If I hadn't just strained my knee and ankle, I'd be doing dishes. Still can, if we get my wheelchair to the kitchen, and then me to the kitchen.
It occurs to me that we're not positive that my mother knows I'm with Geena.
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sad
creative
bouncy
discontent
curious
blah
