Mystery Diagnosis and Other Medical Issues

Bad news.

Really bad news.

I'm going to have to change my "Endometriosis" tag to "Mystery Diagnosis".

Why? Because I got a phone call from the gynecologist. My old general practitioner's (GP), Dr. J., office sent my most recent blood test results to the GYN, so with those and my ultrasound results he made a decision.

The decision that my problem was not gynecological.

So I guess it's just a coincidence that my pain is synchronized with my cycle. And apparently he doesn't care anymore that I said I think it's endometriosis, and that he agreed that it could be, and that he himself said the only way to tell for sure was surgery. But apparently none of that matters anymore because he had some kind of psychic vision that my problem isn't gynecological.

If it ends up being endometriosis I'm going to make an appointment just to punch him in the face.

I've got an appointment with the new GP, Dr. S, in about two weeks so he's going to get an earful about that. For sure.

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One of the co-morbid disorders of fibromyalgia that isn't often talked about is AAIFS, or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Family Syndrome. AAIFS is almost never found in the fibromyalgia patient themselves but is actually found in the people surrounding the patient. Variations of AAIFS are AAIFS2 (Annoying-Ass Ignorant Friend Syndrome) and AAIAS or Annoying-Ass Ignorant Acquaintance Syndrome, often found in friends of friends or coworkers of the patient.

Symptoms of AAIFS, AAIFS2 and AAIAS include comments covered in What Not to Say, but also include a general ignorance, often with refusal to comprehend what's being told to them in response to their ignorant-ass comments.

Yesterday I was feeling pretty awful so I took a Vicodin and, for whatever reason, while I was showering an hour or so later I was overcome by weakness, dizziness, and nausea-- I really thought I was going to faint. I sat down for a little while because I was afraid that if I laid down I really would pass out, so I sat and waited it out. When it passed I was okay, but pale and shaky. I told my mother what happened and that I'd be staying downstairs for a little while afterwards in case I really did faint.

She started hemming and hawing about my eating habits (which are normal and haven't changed in months), then started in about how much I've been sleeping-- which I admit is a lot, 12 hours or more daily, but that's because of the change in medication and I may need a new sleep aid.

I tried to explain to her about how switching a major part of my medication (Lyrica now instead of Celebrex: New Doctor, New Methods) is going to mess me up for a while until we get it worked out, and how Dr. S. said he would normally see a person in my condition for whom he's changing a major part of their medicinal regime he would see once a week but because of our horrible insurance and financial difficulties I can only see him once a month.

Then she did her "I still disagree even though you had a logical and reasonable answer for each of the points I brought up" pursing her lips face (not to be confused with her "I want to say more because I think you're wrong and stupid but I can't because you're in no condition to fight" pursing her lips face) so I knew that was the end of the discussion.

It's so frustrating, and I don't know what to do. Arthur, Janet and I were talking about Arthur's, Mick's, and my fatal stubbornness that we get from our mother...I mean, we hang on to things that we think or feel waaaay past the time that everyone else thinks or sees that we should stop, but we either don't see it or don't care that it's there. Tenacity is a good thing, but we cross the line into obstinacy.

It takes a lot, a lot, to convince her to change her mind, and I really don't know what else to do. She has plantar fasciitis, so it's not like she's a stranger to chronic pain...but she just refuses to...or she can't...I don't know. I don't even know how to describe it.

Let's just say she's ignorant of the real situation but is too stubborn to see it differently and it annoys the crap out of me.

--

This situation sucks from about 15 different angles.

But hang in there with me, kids, we'll all get through it.

New Doctor, New Methods

So I went to my new GP this morning. Well, my new old GP, he was actually the first doctor I saw after we stopped going to my pediatrician after he almost killed my brother by making a stupid mistake when I was six.

So now I'm seeing him again. The GP, not the pediatrician. The pediatrician is dead, actually, come to think of it.

The first thing new GP did was take me off Celebrex, which is crazy weird since I've been on Celebrex for over a year now...but he's right, it's not really doing anything for me and isn't worth the possible long-term effects to my heart. So he started me on Lyrica.

He asked why my old GP didn't put me on Lyrica to begin with since, from my description of my symptoms (the "bugs" and pinches, burning, nerve jumping...), Lyrica is an excellent idea for me. I told him that the other doctor was concerned about my weight, but the new GP, Dr. S, said my weight is really the least of our concerns-- that once I start feeling better I'll be able to do more and the weight will just fall off.

Which is true, really, when I was at the Internship from Hell I dropped 15 pounds like it was nothing. I eat well, I just can't do anything. He also said that since I'm 5'4" by their measure (yeah, I'm suddenly 2 inches taller. Don't know when that happened.), my BMI is 31 which is really only 1 point out of the normal range, which works out to about 10 pounds. Here and I thought I needed to lose 60.

I should lose 60, and I will eventually, but holy crap-- 10 pounds from the high end of normal? Word. Up.

Dr. S also said no more milk and no cruciferous vegetables, which is harsh because I loooove milk (5 English Foods We Need in America) and cruciferous vegetables are some of my favorites (broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, cabbage, horseradish)...he said we'll try it for a year, then I can start them again and if I don't notice a difference in the way I feel I can have them back. I whined a little and he said, "Hey, I like redheads, but my wife is a blonde." It made me laugh.

So I took 75 mg of Lyrica and I feel strange...I know something's different, but I'm not sure what. I almost feel a little dopey. It's weird.

My stomach really hurts, and it's not even the real pain yet-- I'm really scared. Dr. S gave me some baby Vicodin, Norco, but only 6. Six days of relief...

I kind of feel like I'm in a fog. Like my head is cloudy. Or...it's even almost like I'm underwater, like I'm moving in slow motion and it's taking things that happen longer to get to me, like the sound from the TV. I've got a little headache, though, so that could be part of it.

--

I might have shattered my mother's brownie dish this afternoon...I'd used it to make some frozen pizza [Dr. S said occasional cheese was okay :) ], and it was so super hot it was burning my hand through the oven mitt, so when I put it in the sink I thought I should run some cold water over it so nobody would get burnt and...well...kkkshh!! Many, many pieces. Many pieces. Oops.

It gave me the idea for a new tag for you, though, so some good comes of it. "Learn from My Mistakes".

Well, more than some good, really, because now I know what to get my mother for her birthday.

Edit: While I was making dinner I also broke one of my ramekins. I have suspended my own "touching things" privileges for the rest of the day, for my own safety and the safety of others and our possessions. It's better this way. Spaz Girl Walking

Natural Disaster Rag

So, my first earthquake was awesome. Infinitely more so because there were no fatalities (reported so far)! Take that, Mother Nature.

I told my mother I was really glad the earthquake happened after my doctor's appointment. Imagine that PAP smear. Phew.

So yeah, survived an earthquake. I was sitting on my bed, eating lunch after getting home from my appointment when my bed started shaking a little. I thought, "No big deal, my dad is hammering something or they're packing up the car or my neighbors are doing something..." The first little bit wasn't bad. Two seconds after it stopped it came again, and I thought it was my dad again, but then a part of me thought it was a ghost.

In my defense I watch a lot of movies, and I'm 98% sure my house is haunted, and 100% sure my neighbor's side of our duplex is haunted.

But then I thought, if my dad is hammering something in the kitchen, directly under my room, why isn't there any sound? So I yell out, "What are you doing?!" A few seconds later my mother screamed up the stairs, "What are you doing?! Are you alright?!" So she thought it was me until she realized it wasn't. The house was still shaking as I got up to go downstairs.

My dad gets home from work at about 1:30, so we were all home-- but nobody else on our street was! We thought we were crazy at first, but then my mother decided to call the police and got a busy signal-- so we were glad it wasn't just us.

My cell phone service was interrupted for a little bit, but once it got back there was a flurry of texts-- most people enjoyed it and everything was fine. Herbert said we should have earthquakes more often, and I quite agree.


Eagle-eyed readers will say, "What were her parents packing?" I thought they were packing the car, as my brother Arthur and his wife Janet had rented a beach house in North Carolina for this week and my parents were driving down to join them, stopping overnight in Maryland, and getting to NC Wednesday.

But the Outer Banks of NC, where they were going, are beginning evacuation at 5 am Thursday morning because Hurricane Irene will be hitting Saturday.

S&O has become a natural disaster blog: earthquakes, hurricanes, and hobo weddings.

So my parents have decided not to go. I was so looking forward to my time alone...running errands, cooking tasty food (meat and vegetables were going to touch each other!) and baking tasty treats (homemade cinnamon rolls...)...it was going to be fun. Oh, well.


Now to the original purpose of this post: the GYN appointment.

My mother said before I went in that it was like going to the dentist. And she was right, in a weird way...there's really nothing else that compares to it like going to the dentist. It's awkward, it's uncomfortable, you're laying down...but it's not as devastatingly awful as I thought it would be, and over much, much faster than I would have thought.

Seeing the various absorbent coverings on the examination table made me realize that they've probably seen horrifying things and learned from experience-- and nothing horrifying was happening to me externally, so damn. It can't be that bad.

And it wasn't.

Do I have a diagnosis? Of course not. I need many, many more tests before that happens. What comes next is an ultrasound so...that's what I'm doing next. My dad was like, "What do you mean nothing's wrong?" so I had to explain to my father that my problems are deeply internal and not externally visible. "OH, got it." Yeah.

Did he give me pain meds? No. Jerk. He said he doesn't like treating until he knows what's wrong. Clearly he doesn't know that I like punching when people are being toolbags.

So, that was the deal for today. Hope yours was as interesting as mine.

I Live with Luddites.

My parents were born in 1954, making them the last of the baby boomers.

And they really, really suck at computers. Like, hardcore suck at computers. Not that their age has anything to do with it, because my mother's sister who's almost 10 years older than her does well enough with technology to work from home. And want an iPad.

I myself am pretty bad but they think I'm amazing, so I have to tell them that the fact that they think I know a lot shows how pitifully little they know.

Now I could go into detail and describe a hundred instances of all the stupid things they say and do, technology related, but I'm having one of those days where everything online says what I'm thinking 100 times better than I ever could, so here's a link to a story where an older gentleman uses a computer for the first time ever: Joe's First Computer Encounter.

Wait-- here's one story from just last night that isn't covered anywhere else in this post because that's how bad it is. My father, who's had a computer in his house that he's used daily for twelve years asked me, when I told him to select a file, "Left-click or right-click?"

May I fall down dead if I'm lying.

See? Still here.

This one came up on Cracked today: 6 Reasons the Guy Who's Fixing Your Computer Hates You, and I assure you, he does hate you in those moments. Really and truly.

And now, my favorite Rage-type Comic:

Story of my life, man. The story of my life.