Thursday, May 08, 2008

Give Me The Works And Don't Hold The Mayo

Today is the day. The day I've been waiting for. Today is my appointment to see the pulmonologist. You know, the rock star that I've been anticipating for a couple months as I've been struggling to breathe.

Do you think it would be too much if I greeted him by saying that I've looked forward to meeting him more than the second coming of Jesus?

I'm afraid though. Terribly afraid of getting the kiss off like I got with the rheumatologist. "Sorry, don't know, can't help you, good luck with your search..." I am the kind of person that likes to play things down so that when I get kicked in the teeth, it doesn't hurt so much. This also leads to the kind of personality that gets a little too grateful when people agree with me on topics like whether or not I am really sick. When my family doctor told me I was sick, I wanted to genuflect and kiss his stethescope.

I did end up going into Urgent Care last week as my roller coaster prednisone dosage was being cut down and I became really tired of trying to breathe. Well, I'll be! The Urgent Care doc thought that part of my problem was that my connective tissue in my ribs was swollen and not allowing my chest to expand. Holy Shit! I told the docs that along time ago. Guess what? They looked puzzled and perhaps wrote it down but no one actually put their hands on my rib cage to, you know, BE A DOCTOR AND INVESTIGATE.

So after seeing the Urgent Care doc, he talked to my family doc and apparantly there are machinations occuring to get me down to Mayo. Urgent Care Doc is convinced that this is rheumatologic in origin. But perhaps there is lung rot in there as well.

So, I see the family doc again tomorrow to get the skinny on how many more months I will have to wait to see another doctor.

In the mean time, I find it increasingly hard to do really crazy things like press down on the gas pedal and brake when I drive. Or open heavy doors. Or chew things like steak. Or walk. And there's always that breathing thing.

But fortunately, this isn't THEIR emergency.

It's just mine.

1 comment:

Shelly said...

Been There.

Its awful.

I know what you mean about getting excited when a doctor appears to agree that perhaps there might be something wrong with you. I had similar feelings of elation.

Ultimately, having a headache every single day (me) or not being able to take in breath (you) would seem like such an obvious clue, but, apparently they're not.

Its depressing to have a group of people think that you are making things up to get attention. LUCKILY, they tend to prescribe anti-depressants for people like us, (like those drugs will somehow make us get over it and/or stop bugging them) and the anti-depressants should at least take the edge off of wanting to kill people who don't listen.

Many times, I just wanted to smack someone. Wait four weeks to get in to see a specialist, only to find out that the person who referred you didn't bother to send over any of your records? And then be told that its another four weeks before your next chance? And when you break down and cry, right there in their office, from the pure frustration of it all, it feeds right into their "depressed" diagnosis...

Its the worst feeling in the world to be an intelligent, normal person and have people treat you like you are stupid or mentally unstable in some way. I found myself watching shows like House and thinking, I wish he was MY neurologist! He'd figure the sh*t out...

I often thought, If I just die from this, whatever-it-is, what then? Just a mystery? She was so young...

Its crazy.

Make sure that you do a lot of venting. Its the only thing that helps.