Como luceros fríos

Sobre el olivar hay un cielo hundido y una lluvia oscura de luceros fríos.

01 February, 2008

I went to the doctor today. I was engaged in doctorliness from approx. 9am until exactly 1:44 fucking PEE EM. I wish I could charge medical people by the hour. That would be excellent. Then I could pay for my SEVEN DAILY FUCKING MEDICATIONS I HAVE TO TAKE NOW.

I like lists:

1. I have developed asthma. someone give me a goddamn refund on this body because it's obviously defective. You know those soppy christians who should be killed because they love cooing "god doesn't make mistakes"? They should be killed twice. Because Something Is Clearly Wrong With Me.

1a. In my moments of better humor, I keep telling myself, "I am made of FAIL," and snickering.

1b. Is asthma psychosomatic too? Wait, don't tell me.

2. They doubled my anti-depressant dosage because I am extra crazy.

3. I had a panel of blood tests. everyone who has laid eyes upon me knows that I am not afeared of the needle. I have noserings and my arms are covered in tattoos. Also, I am not afraid of blood. ALSO, I tend to be a masochist, so I am not afraid of pain. However, I am very afraid of blood tests. This is because I have no veins. I found this out the hard, vomit-y way. Also, once they find what somewhat passes for a vein, it quickly collapses and ceases to bleed. This results in DIGGING IN MY ARM WITH THE NEEDLE which of course results in pukery. So I try to weasel my way out of bloodwork. When that fails, I inform the lab technician that I have no veins, and that they are to use child blood-drawing equipment, and will most likely have to do the blood draw from my hand. Furthermore, they must place a trashcan nearby for future instances of pukery. They always laugh until they realize that these are indeed truths and then they mope about having to stick my hand. Then they call for ice chips for me to suck on and tell me not to move.

3a. The phlebotomist and I had a very loud, giggly discussion about how sad it was that I could never take up a heroin habit, all this spoken as he was slapping my arms to find a vein. SMACK SMACK SMACK NO HEROIN FOR YOOOOOOU, LITTLE GIRL!

4. I had to have a chest x-ray to check if there are still pneumonias hiding in my accursed lungs. They also wished to investigate for TB. Oh, how ironic it would be if I were to have TB, considering that I managed to avoid getting it on the compound in hare krishna land when there were new Russian immigrants present who were actually infected.

4a. Having TB could mean serious shit about my job. I mean, health, too. But having TB means NO TEACHIE IN THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS.

5. Zyrtec is over the counter and available in generic now. There is some small ray of non-suckery. It would suck less, though, if I didn't have to take double the recommended dosage (by dr. order) every fucking day.

5a. I feel chronically dehydrated from the sheer amount of antihistimines in my system at all times. And I do not like drinking. I am like a feline in that i prefer wet foods to drinking liquids. I hate drinking water.

5b. One of my students knocked my SIGG bottle off my desk and broke the shit out of the cap.

5c. I hate everything.

6. Going to the dr. makes me cry. It just does. I know what you're thinking, if you've been reading this thing for awhile. Everything makes me cry. Which is absolutely true and you deserve a cookie. But going to the dr. makes me cry EXTRA. My entire adult life I have had chronic, largely untreatable health conditions. You knew that, too. Visiting the dr. is an episode of sheer, abject helplessness for me. When I left school and ran away to brainwashed zombie-land, I no longer had health coverage. Not that my parents especially supplied me with much medical care anyway, aside from my mother proclaiming she'd take me to the gynecologist so that he could check me "DOWN THERE" and tell her what wicked shenanigans I'd been up to. Anyway. I went without any kind of health coverage for an entire decade. When you don't have insurance, doctors and their cohorts are not very nice to you. When you go to a doctor in Town while you are a crazed cultist, they are super-extra-ultra not nice to you. They sneer and tell you that whatever you have is caused by the cult. They're probably right, but not in the way that they think. I went to the in Town dr. once at age 18 (I had to borrow money) with a massive allergic reaction to I have no idea what (perhaps I was allergic to arrogant swamis giving advice to miserable married couples). My mouth was swollen and covered in blisters. My hard and soft palate were blistered. He told me it was caused by a B12 deficiency because hare krishnas are vegetarian and then he threw (note: not figure of speech) a scrip at me for a steroid. He didn't tell me what it was or what the side effects were. Then he left the room. I'm sure it's no surprise that I have super-crazy reactions to oral steroids. They make me suicidal and kind of homicidal as well. Then there was the dr. that prescribed me a completely old-fashioned, notorious-for-bad-side-effects antihistimine that others have told me is utterly inappropriate as a first attempt at treatment for my Crazy-Induced Allergic Condition. Then there was the next doctor who prescribed me TWO antihistimines with tons of side effects. Then there was the dr. who did a stabbity, I mean biopsy of a mass in my breast to see if it was cancerous and completely missed the mass and took a biopsy of the wrong tissue and I had to go back for a second (even more expensive) biopsy and had a bizarre shaking and falling down reaction to the anesthetic. AND THEN there was the seemingly endless stream of doctors I have seen about everything else that is wrong with me and the end result is that all that can be done is to "make me comfortable" and feed me medication I am really starting to not be able to afford. And it's all in my head anyway. At least the doctors got nicer when I got insurance and give me samples. Why wouldn't they give me pharm samples when I was making a grand total of four figures annually? Did they think I would sell my Clarinex on the streets? Not that that shit works, anyway.

6a. On second thought, maybe the cost balances out. Some of my meds have an appetite-suppressing side effect. So I'll pay for my meds with the money I'm not spending on food. Top Serious Great Idea!

7. Speaking of steroids, one of my shiny new asthma meds has a steroid component too and I am wondering if the level of panic I feel about it is anywhere in the ballpark of semi-appropriate. The dr. told me that there were no side effects and it was really the best treatment for me. Only, that's what other doctors have told me about other meds that have had Significant Motherfucking Side Effects. Things like: "Oh, the only side effect this horrible antihistimine has is that it might make you a little sleepy, so take it at night." That one made me gain in excess of 40 lbs. in six weeks and had me sleeping more than twelve hours a day and feeling massively stoned 24/7. Jesus, people, my fear of doctors isn't entirely crazy. When I am extremely fucking reluctant to go to one for something, I don't think it's part of The Crazy. It's me weighing the risks (and hating to miss work, because who can go to the dr. with a teacher's schedule?) and what seem like dubious benefits.

7a. As I type, the shiny new asthma med is making my heart beat really fast, like caffeine does. If this shit gives me panic attacks, I am going to seriously lose it. But then, I've already seriously lost it, so what's the difference, at this point?

I think this list has run out of steam.


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