Fucking fuck. That's how I feel about today. That's how I feel about my stupid stupid dummy-head doctor, and that's totally how I feel about fucking fuckity fibromyaglia. Except with more F-words.
Lemme back up.
Every time I visit my Rheumatologist, I go prepared. Sky King accompanies me, I take a list of current meds, and I have a list of shit I want to end.
This time, it was:
List of Concerns:
- Hair loss, noted by myself, and my hair stylist--now, we're not talking "hot pink hooker wig" loss. just noticeable thinning. Irritating, and doesn't seem to link to a particular med I take.
- Fatigue. I'm sofa king tired, I can't even stand it. (HA! Get it? Can't STAND it? 'Cause I wanna lay down? Nevermind...)The sleeping meds I take make me feel like I had two scotches for breakfast, instead of a gluten-free LaraBar. Which sucks, because I commute on the days I have energy to deal with work.
- Pain. Motherfucking mind-blowing pain, that means sometimes I have to choose between playing Angry Birds, and feeding myself. Sometimes the birds win. Sometimes the spoon into the Gluten Free Dairy Free frozen dessert wins. Which is why my weight loss is, shall we say, a tad non-existent lately. Fucking sue me, I'm in pain.
Moving right along...
Then we talk pain. I explain about the wrists, the elbows, the hips. The knees, too. I tell him that it is bothersome, and daily-life-hindering. I tell him that some days, I have trouble holding the steering wheel. I tell him this is not okay with me, with the whole own-a-business things I got going. You know me, and my silliness with that income thing. Apparently, he does not understand the realism in my voice, because he does not immediately offer a hopeful explanation. Instead, he asks about my mood.
"Grumpy" does not even begin to scratch the surface of the state of my mood lately. Not only am I not supposed to work too much, do fun stuff too much, or extend myself in any way, I also need to be mindful of my body mechanics and take note of triggers, gobble pills all day, spend hundreds a month on co-pays for sleep doctors, acupuncturists, head doctors (and not the voodoo-y problem-fixing ones), Rheuma-whatever doctors, primary care doctors, neurologists, and whatever else. All while reducing my stress...during the holidays. Which is stressing me out. He says he understands. But his lack of prescription writing for the perfect drug is telling another story altogether.
So he leaves it like this:
Hair: fine, in terms of loss-not the kind of loss that would be the sign of something bad, so suck it up, Rapunzel.
Fatigue: It has only been 2 weeks on the sleep med, and if I have been having poor sleep for a year (possibly since I was 12 when I was first told I
Pain: Here is the kicker. He thinks it is fibromyalgia, rather than Rheumatoid Arthritis. Which is good, and bad. Good because fibromyalgia won't shorten my life. Just make it an angry bitch. The meds suck, and don't help much with pain. Now if it is RA, that shit is degenerative. My blood work shows the possibility. The meds out there will help the pain. But. The meds suck. The nicest of them is prednisone. The yuckiest is chemo, among others. So praying for "not RA" is the key right now.
Mood: He thinks my biggest problem is anxiety and depression. i tell him, "Yeah, NOW it's my biggest problem. You just pretty much gave me no hope, dude.". I get that I have a tendency towards depression. I get it, I accept it. It's a bitter pill to swallow (I can do this all day, folks. ALL. FUCKING. DAY.) but my health is NOT making it easy. Fine, give me a pill or five that makes me happy I can't fucking eat, use the computer, smack my kids around, whatevs. But shit, really???? That's my PRIMARY problem??? Because people should take the inability to walk without a limp upon standing EACH TIME I STAND, FOR UP TO 10 MINUTES in stride. Umkay. I think this kind of can't-do attitude is what makes doctors have unlisted numbers.
I even have a T-shirt planned. I'm going to Zazzle it. Then, I will wear it to all subsequent appointments-every 4 month follow-up. It's gonna say,
"I went to see my doctor, and all I got was a 3 hour lab wait and referral to psych".
I leave, feeling defeated. If I have RA, they can treat is aggressively, but the drugs may cause some shit I can't even fathom. If it's not RA, this fibro bitch gets upgraded to "flaming whore" status, and I have to find some other way to cope that is A) do-able, B) not pain meds that destroy my already taxed liver and C) does NOT involve copious amounts of kicking puppies, which is what I want to do. It's not so much the "puppy" part, more the "kicking" part. The kick has to be satisfying, though. Kicking a wall, or a fluffy pillow ain't the solution.
So, I feel like cussing, and crying. Sorry I wasn't funny today. Tomorrow will be better, especially with all these mental health issues, I'm sure of it.