I’ve figured it out. The reason my web site is bust.
It’s a Feynman radio. It’s obvious really. My future self is fiddling with neutrinos and sending me a message via bit twiddling in the packets that (fail to) hit my web site to let me know that the surgery was a success. Ah. I’ll be able to sleep tonight now.
(Techie enough for you Chris? :-)
So I lied. The web site isn’t working.
For some unknown reason, despite Roger getting through to it over the weekend, Avaragado’s web site is inaccessible. It’s a big loss to the world, I know.
Not completely-and-utterly inaccessible. A few packets have managed to squeeze through and hit the web server logs, but only very few. Mikey’s had a script running for several hours throwing a telnet at it every 30 seconds, and only about half a dozen of those have impacted the web server logs. (Oh, er, you can stop that script now. Ta.)
One of the Drs Shire spent several hours helping me out, but no banana. Maybe the router’s bust (Netgear DG824M, if you’re interested). I even had a fan blasting away at it in case it was an overheating problem, but that didn’t do anything.
It’s not a web server config thing as we had the same result with SSH too.
Bah. And bah again. Utter madness. Crazy.
Oh well, it’ll have to wait now… other things to do…
Of course the insurance company hasn’t rung me back. They never do, do they?
So I’ve just rung them to nag. Looks like they’ve approved it! They have at least bothered to tell the hospital and the surgeon’s secretary. It’s “subject to me signing the claim form”, which I imagine I’ll be asked to do bleary-eyed first thing tomorrow morning.
The hospital just rang. I’m all booked in, for two nights (though I
might be out after one night if I’m a good boy). I’ll have a TV and a
phone in my room (calls routed through reception), and can have
visitors when I want, assuming anyone wants to see me.
The surgery should last about an hour. So I should be up and about
Yes, I will take my camera :-)
The insurance company has a left hand and a right hand, and nothing
in the middle. The call goes something like this:
Me: My surgeon’s secretary has faxed the claim form to you. The thing
is, we need to have a decision today as they want to do the surgery
Him: Do you know what number it was faxed to?
Me: No, sorry. [Actually she did tell me but I didn’t write it
down; and Avaragado’s rules clearly state that he never memorises
phone numbers before 9am]
Him: Well, I recommend you get her to fax it through to the claims
department on blah-blah-blah with a covering note telling them to ring
you when they’ve made a decision.
So I ring the secretary back, and discover naturally that she’s
faxed it to the claims department number anyway. She’s going to fax it
through again with my contact details.
We decide to assume that they’ll approve it (well, we can’t hang
about!). She’s going to let the hospital know. I ask her if there’s
anything I should do or not do today – there’s bound to be some
restriction, like not standing on one foot after 3pm or not patting
chickens after dusk or something. She tells me not to eat anything
after midnight. I can do that.
She asks about allergies. The only one I know of is that all of a
sudden I seem to be allergic to elastoplast, and need to use
hypoallergenic plasters. She’ll tell the hospital, and I should remind
Then she tells me that I should check in (if that’s the right
phrase) to the hospital between 6:30 and 7am tomorrow. How
early? The surgery would be at about 8am. Blimey. This time
I now feel like a prospective taikonaut on a shortlist.
I’m woken at 8:20am by a phone call from the surgeon’s secretary.
Do I still want to have the surgery tomorrow?
Yes, of course. I just need to sort out the insurance business.
She’s faxing the claim form to them right now. I’ll need to ring them
up and get a verbal approval from them, then get back to the secretary.