In the last week and a half I have been a motherfucking rockstar.
Made ALL THE CALLS. And gone to all the appointments. Saw all of the floors of all of the waiting rooms.
Dig if you will.
Check up after the botox. Waiting room full of pregnant women as he shares rooms with a pre-natal clinic. My nice bloated gastroparesis belly rivalled some of the near term bitches.
GI doc punched the air with glee and wrote out another admission paper for my next Botox treatment after I told him that it seems to be working. My nausea is minimal and I am eating a greater range of foods. Sure, it is not a cure and GP is going to be a life long mofo but I am hoping that with Botox and diet I am going to be able to manage the worst of it. HUZZAH!
Got a haircut (sorry, no photo cause it was a spur of the moment thing and managed to get squeezed in). Am I the only woman on the planet that despises getting their hair cut?
Then made ALL OF THE CALLS. Oh that was hell.
Spent a hour co-ordinating the dentist – MPS to get time off to drive me, finding valium, the valium was out of date, calling GP’s office to make an appointment to get valium and put on waiting list, calling my parents to see if they had any and then if they could pick Boo up while I was at the dentist, calling dentist back to confirm appointment, big heaving cries in between calls because I hate this shit.
BTW, yes I have to make calls at work all the time. Yes I fucking hate it there too. No, I have no idea why.
Then almost an hour on the phone to the exercise physiologist receptionist organising appointment times. Everything set up, first appointment in Melbourne and then 6 Skype calls. Done. She calls me back an hour later saying there has been a cancellation and they can get me in sooner… have to re-do the whole thing again.
Wish I had the Valium.
Doctors office calls. Cancellation.
Walk in and he is nice as anything to me. Which is good cause last week when I saw him for the referral for the exercise physiologist he told me that he doesn’t believe in fibromyalgia and that idiopathic is a made up word.
GIVE ME FUCKING STRENGTH.
I tell him I am going to the dentist tomorrow and I need valium. He gives me the script and then tells me some story about some person that had a CT scan and needed valium but I am not listening because I still have more calls to make and I have lost patience with this dude. He is just a means to an end as far as I am concerned now.
Get home and make the appointment with the mental health GP. Receptionist refuses to make the appointment because he has closed his books and Rheumy hasn’t written the letter he said he would…
this, of course, is lost because I am on the phone, but OMG. So she makes a tentative booking and DIRECTS me to call my Rheumy to write the letter. And then adds that it might have been sent to another clinic cause he works at three.
I direct you back to the above picture of my friend Samuel/Jules.
So I call the Rheumy’s office and she says he did write the letter and SHE SENT IT to the wrong motherfucking doctor she will ask his permission for it to be sent to the right doctor and I just throw my hands in the air and say fuck it all and have a cry and call it a fucking day.
I went to the dentist and had a broken tooth fixed and two fillings and a partial clean.
I didn’t die or faint.
It did, however, take 2 days for my jaw to pop back into place.
And that is all I have to say about that *rocks in corner*
After a pretty rocky night where I kept flying out of bed thinking my heart was going to explode (left over from the adrenaline in the anesthetic, maybe?) I had a pretty cruisey day on Thursday with just a blood test.
Appointment with the mental health GP after it was finally confirmed with the Rheumy’s receptionist that he would write the letter that he said he would, hmmmm, and then again confirmed that the appointment was still available with the curt GP receptionist.
Took my seat in the very full waiting room next to an elderly gentleman that informed me that he was rather annoyed at the wait and was extremely keen to get back home and re-commence drinking.
It was 10am.
I’m not judging. Shit, somedays I feel the same, buddy.
Finally I was called in to my appointment and after a fairly bizarre appointment where I was made aware you could buy Xanax online (and shown the websites) and sat through a long diatribe about the shittiness of other doctors in the area, I had my referral to another psychologist. Thank fuck for small mercies.
Jesus fuck. With a day that went from 36C to 16C in a matter of minutes it suited the Rhuemy’s mood to a tee. As usual.
He dismissed one of my cardiologists diagnosis’ in a second and then sent me for more scans and talked about me being off work for another year. Then said he would write to the Pain Clinic to get me in sooner and encouraged me to do shit we already said we would put off till AFTER I had seen the exercise physiologist.
I thought I was the one with brain fog. Oh, no, that’s right… I just expect doctors to read my file before they call me into their office.
Give me strength.