Why Don't They Listen

I wish for once I could get my rheumatologist to listen to me.  I see her three times a year.  My last appointment was two months ago and it goes like this (every visit):


Me:  D, I need to have my thyroid tested.  I take Levothyroxine, 25mg.  It needs to be increased.  I'm tired all the time.  I have trouble staying awake all day.  Everything is an effort.


D:  No, Mary, your current thyroid med is all you need.  You have fibro, it makes you tired.  You have fibro, we are treating your hypothyroid, and your med doesn't need to be increased.  Let me find your last blood work up - there it is - your thyroid is just fine.


Me: D, I hate feeling this way.  Sluggish all the time.


D:  It's the fibro, Mary.  She plays with my hands and then asks me if my hands hurt in the morning.


Me:  Yes, normally my joints in my entire hands are swollen.  The joints are red all the time.


D:  You have developed arthritis in your hands.  (no mention of treatment)


Me:  Thank you, that's what I thought.  Are you sure my thyroid med is adequate?


D:  Yes, Mary.  You are doing fine.  I want to see you again in 14 weeks.


Me:  Okay.


Jump ahead to the second week in February.  I'm in the nursing home for a week to help me recover from major back surgery.  My family doctor stops by on Wednesday.  She ordered blood work two days ago and has the results.  She doesn't visit much since I am nicely sedated with pain meds.  However, when the nurse gave me the morning meds the next day, she says my doctor doubled my thyroid med.  I was so happy and would have jumped up and down but pain meds keep me subdued.  I see her in a few weeks and I will be so happy to tell her how much better I feel.  Now I am wondering about finding a new rheumatoid doctor.  All I ask is that they listen to me.  Why is that so hard for them?

Memories, Messages, Minutes

Memories returned very slowly over a ten year span.  I was not patient but Dr.B was patient.  There were several attempts at suicide, but mostly a lot of self harm.  I didn't use a knife, I used the end of a paper clip and ran it over and over the same place until there was blood.  The physical pain increased as I scraped.  I liked the pain.  Sometimes there were long scrapes, sometimes there were clusters.


One weekend the newest therapist was given the phone to take emergency calls.  Stupid kid never would answer. Turned out he had never had a cell phone and had no idea how to answer the thing.  He also did know there was a charger but he left it in his office because he didn't know how it worked.  When no one answered my three calls, I first left a nice message.  The second message was not so nice.  The third and last message included yelling and name calling and foul language.  I finally yelled into the phone and told this person he should rot in hell.  Then I self harmed a large square on my wrist.   DrB was his supervisor and boy did that young man get into some trouble.  Stupid on his part because he didn't ask for help.


I learned a lot over ten and a half years.  I have learned that sometimes I have to take life one minute at a time.  I do that a lot.  I still have the depression and the anxiety and the borderline issues that can ruin a good day in a heart beat.  That's when I slow down, breathe, and slice the situation into pieces that I can handle.  I had to do that on Tuesday.  It worked and by mid-morning I was over it.


My life will always be this way.  It's not fair and it's all because I was loved by my father and hated by my mother.  ugh........not going there right now.

ObamaCare stinks

DrB told me yesterday that the new ObamaCare insurance rules will put a financial burden on his company's nonprofit status and they will probably close their doors later this year.


I think I am still in shock over this announcement. I can't think beyond my own needs right now.


And we said goodbye and agreed that I will call if I need him. He said if there is no contact in the next six months, he will send my file to storage. He and Albert were so happy for me. I was dying inside and they were shaking hands.


I can't think very well right now. I want to have a screaming, crying fit but I can't pull up those emotions. I am abandoned. I am silent and dying inside. Yes, dying inside. Inside I am crumpled like a wad of paper with flames all around.


I have been abandoned.


I have no tears. I am a shell of a person and I have no feelings except that I thoroughly despise Obama and his LOUSY attempt to provide insurance for everyone.


I am a body that is empty and hurting and I'm afraid to face the fact that DrB is not treating me fairly. I should get to see him at least every two months and then transition to quarterly and then a check in if I decide I need it. No, he just booted me to the car. I died in the parking lot.


Wonderful Mary, all healed and ready to face the world on her own. That is not a true statement at all. Mary is now a shell, a covering holding her physical body and yet is dead.


and no one will tell DrB because he is so happy for me


I am dead
I am dead
I am dead






So, finally I called DrB and he returned my call. I made an appointment for April 21.


I feel much, much better after talking with him.


Slowly feeling good again. The depression is slowly disappearing.



..............sigh...............