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2005-10-26 @ 12:58 a.m.
avoiding the much dreaded unicorn-dritis

"A" came to my rescue this morning. And I really needed it. If I seem apathetic at times here, that's only the half of it. It's not that I don't care as a person, its just that I don't give a shit about things affecting myself at work, for instance. I don't do my paperwork at work. I don't check my e-mails at work. I don't check my cell phone for messages at work. I don't do much of anything at work....except show up. I'm good at that. I show up. I act somewhat enthusiastic (in other words I have a pulse). But I don't think anyone really notices that I'm not really there. Its a secret you see. And also usually when you're on disability, you get to do that 24/7 and go undetected. But at work its a little more tricky. But I've now gotten it down to a fine art. Slip in. Slip out. Get a check.

It was one year ago today that I was hired. I stopped caring about my job about 2 months ago. I feel bad about it, but I'm not sure what to do about it. It doesn't mean I'll quit or that I won't start caring about it again. Its just that I'm in a period of severe I don't caredness. Of course, I'm also feeling that way about life in general at the moment. Bills piling up? I don't care. Checkbook need doing? I don't care. Health on the fritz? I don't care. Doctors treating me not doing their job? I don't care. I mean, I do deep down, but I'm so sick of having people disappoint me, that I'm starting to lose my confidence in them.

My medical doctor, for instance....I've been seeing her almost as long as "A". Probably about 8-9 years. She's a nice woman. A lesbian. I've never had an issue with that. She used to have this real home spun, aw shucks personality when she first started. I really liked it. I felt like she really cared about things. She still looks about the same....large and tall and kind of open faced, but now she always looks harried, like "I so have to get to that NEXT patient so I can see 75 people today, so I can pay everyone's salary." That I don't like. I don't think short changing quality for quantity is such a great idea. I used to totally trust her with diagnosing things, but now I find myself trying to go in with my own diagnosis. One I can kind of run by her to see if I'm right, because Lord knows, I don't want her to trim any of our quality time together trying to come up with some pesky diagnosis. I want to have as much time as posibble, so that I can ask her a bunch of rapid fire questions. I even write them down now. Why? Because I feel like I'm under pressure. I feel like if I forget one blessed symptom, like there's an elbow growing out of my forehead, she might only diagnose a cold instead of the much dreaded unicorn-dritis.

She has missed illnesses before. Once she missed diverticulitis. I didn't have the knowledge to diagnose myself on that one. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I was so ill, I had to go back to the office a second time in a 10 day period because I was rapidly losing weight, barfing and pooping simultaneously, and I was in such severe pain I could barely get out of bed. I think she said I had a touch of the flu and to just rest.

The second time I went back, I saw another doctor who shares her office, since she was on vacation. This doctor was like, whoa, totally different. She actually SAT DOWN, and, are you ready? Actually asked me like 15-20 questions. Not like the usual 2 my doctor asks. And she even did a lot more doctory things, like looking into my various orifices and pressing on various parts of my body and ordering tests, and then she even did the absolute smartest thing ever! She sent me to a Gastroencologist THAT DAY, who determined I had diverticulitis. He immediately put me on antibiotics and then after I got through with the pooping and barfing thing, he scheduled a colonoscopy and found some pre-cancerous cells growing in my colon, which I thought was pretty darn nice of him. He took them out naturally. And everything was groovy. It did leave me wondering, however, if my doctor would have ever discovered that stuff since she's so damn busy buzzing from room to room diagnosing random colds and funny toe disease. I mean, its kinda hard to do that doctoring thing when you gotta worry about paying the entire staff, yourself and that malpractice insurance.

So I guess you can say I'm a little disillusioned with my doctor. I have been feeling poorly healthwise pretty much since I moved to my new apartment. I'm used to the pain thing because of my fibro and its just an accepted part of my life, but this knotted, twisted heart muscle thing that I went to see her about back in August has been driving me insane. My chest muscles have been consistently sore and twingey since then and with my family's extensive history of heart disease and my high cholesterol, has had me really freaked out.

So how did "A" figure into all this. Well, I was laying all sprawled out on his chair weeping this morning, and he was all chipper and cheerful and I felt bad because I always like to try and at least look like I'm trying for "A". But I was feeling so physically exhausted and beat that I just couldn't do much more than sit there and cry. He finally asked me if he should call my doctor. I was noncommittal. I'm so discouraged by my doctor's apparent lack of interest in the art of healing, that I just sort of shook my head. But "A" is "A" and so he asked me for her phone number and what is funny is her phone number and Married Guy's are so similar that if you were dyslexic, you might dial his, but fortunately I gave him the correct number and since he's a doctor, he got right through to her and told her I was having squeezing chest pains and was in discomfort and she put him through to the receptionist for an appointment.

I thanked "A", crying. It felt good to be taken care of. I don't feel that very often. It was nice. He just asked that I e-mail him or call him with the results.

I went home after that for a brief nap and then it was out to my doctor's office. The weather was miserable today. Cold. Rainy. Its supposed to snow up in the hills tonight. Ugh! Naturally my first contact was with Nurse Ratched. Oh how I hate her. The Nurse whose life and health is always worse than yours even if you're dying of a fatal disease. She took me in a room and I dumped off my stuff and she took me to the scale to weigh myself (if I wasn't depressed before, I was then). She then took me back to the examining room. I never said a word to her, nor looked at her, since I can't stand her. She said, "Well, you're pretty quiet today!" I told her I wasn't feeling well." (you being AT THE DOCTORS OFFICE AND ALL). And I knew it was just a matter of time before Nurse Ratched would do what she always does when she has a captive audience in an examining room....3....2....1

Her: "My leg is hurting so much today. I can't believe how much it is hurting. No matter which way I stand it gives me pain. I don't know what I did to it, but its really hurting. I wish I could do something for it. The pain is excruciating. I just don't know what's going on with it...."

Basically Nurse Ratched has done this every single time I have ever been here in the last nine years. She gets you in the examining room to take your blood pressure and then tells you about her latest illness. One time it was a migraine. Another time it was a stomach ailment. Another time she felt dizzy. I mean, do I really have to listen to this? Because frankly my dear, I don't give a damn about your damn leg pain or your migraine or your dizziness, because I'm the sick person in the room, not you. I'm the one seeking medical attention. It would be different if I knew her, or even liked her, but I don't either. And as she was yacking away I was wondering how many times a day, she traps people in examining rooms and tells them about all her medical issue? Does she really expect them to care? We're there to get medical assistance, not provide an audience for your apparent monumental egocentric cry for attention. If you're sick, go talk to your boss. Or better yet, go home, climb into bed and watch some soap operas. Just don't bore us with your stories of sore legs. I have sore everything. My heart muscle feels like Andre the Giant just stepped it. Can you top that bitch?

My doctor finally came in, and she still has her aw shuck personality, but I do know I have to talk fast and try to include everything I can think of. She did tell me if my heart muscle hurt continuously for a month and a half I would probably be dead. Heh. Doctor humor, I guess. And then finally after pressing on my chest and ribs a few times (OWWW!!!) she did narrow it down to probably chostrochoditris, which is an inflamed cartilage between my second and seventh rib. And I guess that makes sense. Its all the cartilage around my heart area and near my lungs, so when I'm breathing and I'm not able to take any deep breathes without pain, that's probably why.

So she gave me some Naproxin for the pain (FINALLY!! PAIN MEDICINE!! YAY!!!). She also finally gave me my much needed new cholesterol medicine Crestor and we upped my bipolar meds to help with my apathetic bipolary stuff too. So, I'm hoping that I will start feeling better and not so grumpy and sad and apathetic. I even went over to the YMCA afterwards, to get the paperwork to sign up again for this winter. I used to live all the way across town from the "Y" but now I only live 2 minutes away, so there is absolutely no excuse why I can't get my sorry ass over to the gym, just about every day and start losing some of the weight I've gained recently. Why am I some(cough)what motivated?

The other night when Charlemagne the Obnoxious French Guy was all up in my face, telling me how fucking hot I looked in my picture with Robin Williams, he also happily added, "You could be really cute again, if you lost some weight."


I guess we can all now see how he earned that incredibly appropriate "Obnoxious" moniker.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty