wtfFriday

On Wednesday, I sent an email out at work to the faculty and staff list letting everyone know I’d be leaving early (boss lady having approved my leaving early for medical procedure) so they would know that I wouldn’t be available for student walk ins.  It’s been a busy week, with it being the 1st week of classes.  “I need to leave at 12:30”.  At 12:28, my boss walks in with a student.  I have my bags on my shoulder, am turning off the air conditioners, and am literally halfway to the door.  She stops me and asks if I have a moment to meet.  “Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I don’t.”  She looks around.  “Well can we sign up for a time to meet with you?”  “No, I do that electronically and I just signed off…” I tell her.  I give the student my card and tell him that if he emails me I would be happy to set something up for next week.  “Are you leaving?” she asks, all alarmed and taken aback.  “Yes.  At 12:30” which by that point, it was.

At 2:00, I had an appointment for an MRI of my brain (with contrast) and my “orbits”.  I’ve had an MRI of my brain before.  Twice.  Once diagnostically without contrast in 2005 and god only knows where because I tried to track it down in 2008 and I think the place closed.  And once in…oh, maybe 2004? for a friend of a friend who was doing research at Yale and desperately needed a fill in subject after one canceled on her.  I don’t mind them too much, just the laying still part.

I did mind the one yesterday.  See, the body’s “new” or at least new relative to head MRIs, trick is overheating.  And MRIs make you just an eentsy bit warm sometimes, more so if you have metal fillings, which I have.  I did NOT go in there thinking “I’ll be my metal fillings will heat up.”  No I did not.  I went in there thinking “I hope I can lie still long enough for these pictures” and “I hope my head doesn’t hurt too much while I’m in there” and “I hope the sound sensitivity isn’t too bad because these things are loud” so this wasn’t some self induced symptom set.  Believe me, I was as surprised as anyone (i.e. the techs) when I got so damned hot I felt like I was going to puke and pass out in the tube and had to come out three times before I finally said “take the headphones off, take the sheet off, take my socks off, and roll up my pants.  If that doesn’t work, I’m taking off my pants because I want to get this done.”

This god damned blew.  But minus some items of clothing (and snuggly warm headphones), I was cool enough to get through the rest of the scans including the contrast just fine.

Now I know how microwave popcorn feels.  Except minus the buttery goodness.

Ok, out into the not hurricane (I live in land of B.A.T.H.s, remember?  According to the major news outlets, we were going to get a HUGE hurricane yesterday.  It turned out to be a mild to moderate rain storm that barely registered on the head/joint pain scale).  Then home for some food then off to the PCP for the follow up on many things.

And that did not go so great.  In retrospect, I don’t think it could have gone great.  I was thinking of writing this as if it did go great and then transitioning it with a reveal, a “tada” moment where I pull away the table cloth after setting out all that fine china and silverware so nicely (in case you aren’t following my very tortured analogy here, I’m going for the settings being my expectations for my visit, which I had arranged just so).  But I decided I’m just too drained and tired and, well, yeah.  Just too pooped for that.  Overall, it was productive and that’s good.  But ugh.  It was rough.  For everyone.  Poor PCP.  Poor me.  Poor husband who was taking notes.  Poor nurse who had to stay until after nine PM (yes, you read that right) when we finally finished.  Poor lab tech who will have to make sense of this req.  Poor ambulatory care staff at the local hospital who will have to administer the IV fluids with Mg and vitamins (yes, oh god thank god finally). Poor neurologist who will get the aftershocks of this appointment in the form of “wtf am I on this CMD for? It’s not doing shit and it’s making several things worse and I had a total breakdown in PCPs office and I think this CMD probably was a part of that”.  Did I say poor me yet?

And did I say poor PCP?  My celebrex rant, triggered thusly:  he suggested a consult to ENT for the sleep thing, I asked “ok but I have to tell you, I’m a little less game on this right now.  I’ve been catching some crap from my boss about missing work and so I’m sort of trying to prioritize what I miss work for.  So would the ENT be a consult where they have really specific directions for what to do or would it be a consult where they would be like the endocrine attending, like ‘um, I’m not gonna do anything really useful right now while you have time to do anything, so I’m gonna send you to someone else who also probably won’t do anything useful, i.e. a dietician, and then I’d like to see you in two months’?”, truly, I did say that.  And he looked taken aback.  So I went on.  I need to learn to do something about that.  I apologized and explained it’s been a rough summer.  I referenced some crappy history with doctors (being told I was having seizures all through adolescence when really I was probably just fainting from hypoglycemia and no one thought to check my blood sugar), that I’d had some things happen recently that kicked that up.  He asked what.  I said the neuro’s nurse had been crusty.  He said “nurses don’t count”.  Then I told him about the celebrex thing.  And he listened.  Then he said very quietly “and here I thought I was doing a pretty good job”.  It made me feel really, really shitty.  I apologized.  But he went on.  He told me that the insurance companies play games with them.  I said I know (but the nurse didn’t even submit the authorization for a month).  He told me that it’s hard to know what it is that they want you to say.  I said I know (but she didn’t ask me what it was I took it for) and that I didn’t think to tell her what I took it for.  His manner was not accusing or angry, but defensive.  It made me, well, I suppose scared.  I thought about this alot later.  Well, honestly I’m still thinking about why it would scare me and I suppose it’s because of parents (sorry, quoting Mel Brooks, High Anxiety).

Truly though, it’s the left overs of my mother’s emotional fuckery – the constant threat that she would leave and her leaving meant leaving me, us, to the physical abuse of our father and the sexual abuse of our grandfather (who lived with us).  Not that she was exactly a champion but (a) less abuse happened in her presence and (b) she was a potential champion to me (I think, not sure about that one…still working on it).  Anyhow, sorry for that detour down psych lane, but it was/is quite relevant.  So I was/am scared by my PCPs defensive, distancing reaction to my feeling that I was “abandoned” (his words, not mine) by his office this summer wrt the celebrex and pain management.  And please keep in mind, when I talk about getting authorization for my celebrex, we’re not talking about me being unhappy in a customer service sense, it’s not the kind of let down you have when the RAM chip you ordered by mail doesn’t arrive the exact day UPS said it would – we’re talking about not having something to take for the fuckloads of pain that go with having your period when you have endometriosis on/in your rectum and growing into the walls of your uterus, growing into the ligaments holding your uterus in place.  A spot on a ureter too.  Yes, they cut it out of some of those spots (not all).  But it grows back and it’s been three years.  So this is a significant amount of pain.

I went through two periods this summer with inadequate pain control, on top of the vertigo, the headaches, the fatigue, the…everything.  There are stretches of many days of this summer that are a shaky smear of shit, blood, pain, nausea and grief.  And if you don’t know why grief, you and I are at different points in the whole being sick thing.

So.  He’s telling me basically how hard it is to be a doctor and I do feel for him, but I think it’s triggering all this “eek, he’s going to abandon me more now because I made him feel questioned/less than perfect/less than adored!” feeling and so I start crying and then just fucking SOBBING uncontrollably.

Husband, who says he can handle all this, is still sitting in his chair.  Later he tells me that he didn’t know what to do.  I tell him gently “I think that it was good that you didn’t say anything because he was clearly feeling defensive and that could have made it worse.   But I definitely could have used some comforting.  I think a physical presence would have been nice.  A touch – in the future – god I hope there isn’t a future.  But you can come over in the future and touch me.  That would be nice.”  Husband thanked me for telling him that.  He sounded sincere.  I don’t think I’m resentful for him not moving while that happened.  I hope I don’t become so.

And now, it’s Saturday.  The sun is out.  The heat has broken.  My fillings finally don’t feel hot.  I have a script for IV fluids and various things I am deficient in from the local hospital’s ambulatory care although I left rather quickly in the nine-PM hour from the PCP’s office last night and only realized as we turned onto the foggy main road that I had totally neglected to ask how to access this service.  I guess I’ll figure it out.

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2 Comments

  1. I have gifted you with the One Lovely Blog Award. Check it out at http://chronicmigrainewarrior.blogspot.com.

    Reply
  2. great blog thank you

    Reply

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