I’m here in San Antonio, where in 6 days I’ll be letting the military doctors (well, their «laser» at least) cut on my eyeballs. I was accepted in the USAF’s PRK surgery program in December after some initial testing, but I’m starting to think maybe someone doesn’t want me here.
My first obstacle was obtaining orders. Not permission, mind you, just the permission actually typed out and signed. The permission came on 27 December, but yesterday at 1510 I was sitting there at my desk calling every number I could find for the hospital business office at Robins. If it wasn’t 3 hours away I would have driven down to see what was up. Finally at 1551 the orders came in by fax, I re-faxed them to the travel agency, and they issued my e-ticket.
The fun didn’t stop there. This morning we sort of dawdled around the house but left only 10-15 minutes late. When we left the house e said she wanted to accompany me to the security gate, but by the time we got to the airport nearly an hour later we realized I needed to jump out and go. I did just that, and 2 minutes later was on the phone with e asking her to come right back. Turns out the limit on bags is now 50 lbs, not 70 like it used to be. My bag was 61 lbs of mostly clothes with a few goodies thrown in. I wound up getting rid of the portable DVD player, my USAF leather jacket (I have to wear a uniform sometimes here), and all the DVDs I planned to take. Now that I see my room has a DVD player I wish I’d taken at least some of the movies with me.
Anyway, I dumped the extra stuff in e’s car when she returned and then started briskly walking to the terminal. By the time I passed security and rode the tram to my terminal, I was showing up at about 1055 for an 1123 pushback. When I got to the gate the electronic sign showed a different city, and at the bottom it said that the San Antonio flight had moved from D35 (the farthest from the tram, btw) to C25. I rushed back to the tram and hopped on one just before the doors closed. I ran up the long escalator and hustled over to C25 only to find them boarding for another city. I asked the guy where my flight had moved, and he gave me the “all passengers are idiots” tone and said it was at—wait for it—D35.
Although I was already nearly out of breath from running to C terminal, I managed to go back a little faster. I missed the train but luckily had to walk only one terminal’s worth. I ran up the escalator again (no mean feat if you’ve ever seen the huge climb those babies make) and puffed my way back to my gate. The electronic sign still made no mention of my flight. Turns out they turned off my flight’s info back at 1050ish when they started boarding and thought they’d helpfully tell the next San Antonio flight that they had moved. I hustled out to the ramp, nearly boarding an empty jet because I saw the exiting flight crew and not the ramp agent beckoning me from 100 feet away.
I finally settled into my seat, turned the air on full blast, and tried to relax. I went through the annoying process of untangling the mini-earphones only to find that my Archos Jukebox had apparently turned on when I packed it last night. The battery light flashed and I got 30 seconds of song before it cut off. Not my day.
After a music-less flight, I made my way to the baggage claim area. Since the bags are usually slow, I figured I’d pick up the rental car first. Big mistake. In front of me was a couple from Mexico who hadn’t made a reservation and were hemming and hawing about getting a mid-size when they really wanted a compact which was all rented out. I stood there at least 15 minutes, and then had to wait another 10 while someone at the lot found a reserved compact for me that hadn’t already been let go. By the time that mess was done I was able to get my bag and hop right on the Advantage shuttle. 30 minutes later I was still in the parking lot waiting for the car I’d started paying for back at the counter. The 3rd person who looked at my documents finally found my car. Even though they knew I was on my way long before, they decided to park it out back instead of making it ready for me. I told all this to e while I was waiting and she said I needed to get to my room and lock myself in for the rest of the night to be sure nothing else happened.
Getting to the room wasn’t quite as easy as I’d hoped, including the 4-5 car major accident on the opposite side of I-410 that made my rubbernecking side slow to a crawl. At least I wasn’t in the accident or behind it. I finally made it here and was pleasantly surprised to find that they’d put me in a little suite for my 10 day stay. Now only if it had internet access. I need to either hook up my cell phone for a while or head to the BX to see if they have some sort of short term internet dialup plan, or I’ll use the cell phone to find a free wifi hotspot. Wish I’d have thought of that back home when I had the ability to search easier. Oh well.
Tomorrow I need to head over to Brooks AFB where I’ll undergo a full day of testing to be sure that my eyes really are eligible for surgery, then I’ll have a pre-op at Wilford Hall the next day, the whole weekend off, then surgery Monday morning.
