'scrips and horses

I spent over an hour on the phone with Blue cross, CVS pharmacy, and the physician's assistant for my ortho doctor all because the new script was written "either generic or brand" for the pain killer Ultram.  The nephrologist I saw said, oh no, brand only.  He told me that the generic was not the same as the brand; that the generic is a steroid and hard on the kidneys, where the brand was neither of these things.  So when the ortho doctor was about to write the drug, we explained what the nephrology doctor said, and  so he wrote his script.  And damned he wrote "either", and BC/BS sent me this vague letter about coverage for the brand, since the generic was available.  Therefore, phone calls.  Hopefully the ortho doctor will re-write the order.  Meanwhile, what was used to fill the current  supply?  I dunno.

I have had a very sore pair of knees, after my jaunt at the mall.  I am in terrible shape from my last surgery, and it is hard to do much exercise solely in the bedroom, (no jokes, please)  I do them, but I don't see the progress the physical therapist says is there, in small increments.  So I keep doing the ones he told me to do, as well as the ones from the original therapists.  There are subtle differences, but I just do them all.  And seeing the mall nearly empty, of both customers and stores, was sad, although my daughter had told me how little was surviving there.  I got to admit, I buy everything on Amazon or eBay, instead of chasing around trying to find things.  The only exception is heavy stuff, like furniture.

God this is a poor post, whining on about my ailments.  I will tell a better story.

When I was about 12 years old, my grandfather borrowed a horse from the next neighbor for me to ride while we were there (WV) at the farm, on vacation.  I couldn't have been so happy before then, being a horse crazy girl living in a big city (Miami).  He was fun to watch even when I wasn't riding, and he apparently learned what I carried when I showed up (grain).  But toward the end the owner showed up to claim  him again, to move some of his cattle.  The thing was, he was hard to catch.  After Dan and my grandfather had chased him around a bit, I stepped up to the fence (me on the outside) he ran up to me, and I took hold of his halter (a bad thing to do, really).  And so the men came and claimed him, and were suitably impressed with my skill.  All due to horse food.  And my grandfather, a real tightwad normally, indulged me enough to buy a horse brush, and so I learned the old adage, that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a man (or a girl!).

Grandad borrowed the horse every year for 2 or 3 more visits, I thought of him as mine.  Until he was sold.  And so I learned (from Ben Franklin) the truth of " neither a borrower nor a lender be ".

Come to think of it, that horse was a blue-eyed paint, much like my Blondie horse.  I had her from 4 years old, to 26 years old.  The only equine I ever sold were the little pony and her two foals.  She was a mean pony, until you had a grip on her, when she gave up until the next time.  And neither of my kids could care any less about horses.  My son even told me he would never have horses because they were too much work.  He has a point.