Welcome to chapter one of “Marcy Rocks the Goddamn Boat,” the ongoing adventures of a lovely yet belligerent senior citizen fighting back against the medical establishment. I’m housebound with mobility difficulties, raging bacterial cellulitis and leaking pressure sores on both legs, and this morning my doctor refused to prescribe an antibiotic to my visiting nurse, commonly known as Karen the Cutie, because she wants me to come in for an appointment. We need to keep two things in mind here: 1) it was Dr. M who suggested a visiting nurse in the first place; and 2) Dr. M is fully aware that it’s damn near impossible for me to get to her office. I travel in a bariatric wheelchair, and Sam and I have to arrange for rides on the city of Mesquite’s senior citizen transit bus — a round-trip that takes half a day even though we live less than a mile from the clinic — to get back and forth from the Baylor Family Health Center because my new wheelchair doesn’t fit in our car and it’s too damn heavy for Sam to lift, anyway. (I’m sure that pushing me is no big thrill, either.)
