On an ongoing battle to figure out what medications are working and what medications aren’t, I found myself at the doctor yesterday.
The last time I went to the doctor, my doctor wasn’t there. I had to deal with the guy that was retiring and becoming a doctor on a cruise ship. This time I insisted that the witch doctor was there to make sure everything went OK. He walked in while I was in the middle of reading about how K-fed and Justin are now friends and they are picking on Britney.
“How are things?”
and for the first time in a very long time, I didn’t say, “Oh, alright.” Because that is what I do. When someone asks how you’re doing, you never hear, ‘OH, I SUCK!”. You always hear, “I’m fine, how are you?”
I told him, “I’m Done.”
He listened while I went on and on about the hair falling out, the strange toe thing, the anxiety attacks, the blacking out, light headness and the eye twitching. I told him, “I don’t ever say this, so I want you to understand the magnitude of this sentence.”
He looked at me and stopped typing.
“I’m not OK. I’m not even close to being OK. I can’t take it anymore. I am done.” and then I burst into tears.

Did I mention how I don’t cry around people I don’t know? I don’t. I don’t like to show that weakness (thanks mom) and I only cry when I am calling my sister to beg her to find a way to pull me out of the hole I have dug myself into. If you’ve seen me cry, it was pretty rare and count yourself trusted.

I was waiting for the doctor to pull some feathered head wrap out from under the blood pressure monitor and for smoke to appear from under the examination table. It didn’t. He looked at me and said, “You need help.”
I wanted to say, “HERE’S YOUR SIGN!”, but instead I bobbed my head up and down and agreed to blood tests and a visit to the psychiatrist for next week.

There are three things in the world that gives me the heebie jeebies. 1. Sour Cream 2. Lawn Gnomes and the third is needles.
I don’t mind needles in voodoo dolls, in a dress being designed, in other people…but NOT in my arm.
It’s been nearly 9 years since I have had to have a needle in my arm. I went into Kaiser’s ‘den of blood drawing’ and found no cute little chair that reclines and pictures of unicorns on the ceiling. Nope, it was a damn industrial line of blood suckers. First thing she says, “No Whining.” and then says, “Wow, you’re getting a lot drawn.”

There is a reason I would have never made it as a drug user. I nearly pass out at the sign of needles. After it was done she taped some cotton ball on my arm and I walked out PISSED. I hate blood being drawn. It makes me woozy and scares the living bejeezus out of me. Also the bruising. I hate the bruising.

I will know more later and keep you posted on what the results are.

And for the people that are in the medical industry; WHAT THE HELL is that tape made of? I lost 3 layers of skin trying to get the damn shit off.

OK, here is what the results came back as. Don’t have a damn clue what they mean though: