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| Thanks Doc! |
Last week, after hounding my nurse/her assistant, I got back the test results I've been waiting for.....and they're normal. I was hoping they were not. I was hoping to get a justification to switch meds and a piece of paper to shove in my tiny doctor's face so I could say, HA! There is something wrong! I was right, you were wrong, and here's the proof (drops mic).
Fucked up, no?
To wish that you were, indeed, actually more sick so that your doctor will listen to you? Now I feel kind of defeated, like I made such a big fuss at the last appointment about how something isn't right, and the medicine isn't working, and now one tiny number on a lab slip has rendered my objections worthless.
Ever since I got the news I've felt like a half deflated balloon, the kind that floats dejectedly halfway between the ceiling and the floor.
A sad balloon.
I get teary eyed for no reason, and I'm having a bad colon week. Everything seems harder than it really is, and it turns out that it's much easier to hide in bed or watch bad TV than confront the realities of my current circumstances. Realities that include the fact that my doctor may have helped me as much as he can, or that I feel like I have hit a mark where people are essentially expecting me to just get on with my life already, sick or not.
I see a new doctor next week to get a second opinion. I'm seasoned enough not to get my hopes up too much; I'm not expecting this guy to have all (or any) of the answers, but it will be interesting to hear his thoughts. It certainly can't hurt to have another pair of eyes pour over the paper trail of my sad colonic adventures.
And while I wait, I will try to focus on the things that don't suck. The weather is getting cooler, which means it's time to break out the fleece. My AAC is tolerating pho again (wooo!). And, my city got a new radio station that plays the 90's hits I remember from 6th grade dances; I mayyyyyyy have almost been late for an appointment last week because I was rapping along with Salt N Pepa. I defy you to be depressed when Shoop comes on-it's just not possible. Seriously.
Also, and most importantly, I'll keep reminding myself that no matter what any doctor tells me, I feel how I feel, and that can't necessarily be quantified by a lab. After that last appointment, I need the reminder.
Ever since I got the news I've felt like a half deflated balloon, the kind that floats dejectedly halfway between the ceiling and the floor.
A sad balloon.
I get teary eyed for no reason, and I'm having a bad colon week. Everything seems harder than it really is, and it turns out that it's much easier to hide in bed or watch bad TV than confront the realities of my current circumstances. Realities that include the fact that my doctor may have helped me as much as he can, or that I feel like I have hit a mark where people are essentially expecting me to just get on with my life already, sick or not.
I see a new doctor next week to get a second opinion. I'm seasoned enough not to get my hopes up too much; I'm not expecting this guy to have all (or any) of the answers, but it will be interesting to hear his thoughts. It certainly can't hurt to have another pair of eyes pour over the paper trail of my sad colonic adventures.
And while I wait, I will try to focus on the things that don't suck. The weather is getting cooler, which means it's time to break out the fleece. My AAC is tolerating pho again (wooo!). And, my city got a new radio station that plays the 90's hits I remember from 6th grade dances; I mayyyyyyy have almost been late for an appointment last week because I was rapping along with Salt N Pepa. I defy you to be depressed when Shoop comes on-it's just not possible. Seriously.
Also, and most importantly, I'll keep reminding myself that no matter what any doctor tells me, I feel how I feel, and that can't necessarily be quantified by a lab. After that last appointment, I need the reminder.
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