I used "Mother's Little Helper" as my daily song too recently to repeat it today, but can I just stress the most memorable lyric from that song? What a drag it is getting old. We were at the grocery store today, getting a bucketful of supplements that my doc told me she wanted me on immediately. I used one of those stubby little two-tiered shopping carts today, and my reusable bags and purse took up a third of the top basket. Yet still, the pile of pills, daily pill organizer, and sapphire blue cane I bought (okay, plus some frijoles, veggies, and cheese for naked burritos) that filled the other two thirds of the basket, added up to over a hundred bucks even after the discount for my loyalty card for this grocery store. I felt old and broke all at the same time. Four years ago I was disgusted by how many drugs I was on, from the prescription allergy meds that are now available OTC, to the daily diabetes meds I was on to aggressively treat my polycystic ovaries, and the frequently needed powerful drugs I was prescribed to handle my weekly migraines. I felt like I was way too young to be on that many medications. It pissed me off. So I went cold turkey off of everything. I went months without taking anything at all and reset all of my tolerances, so that when I had a headache months later, a single Tylenol was enough to knock it down. I felt free for the first time in years, but I paid for my rebellion. I gained about forty pounds over the two years that followed. I don't dare guess whether my avoidance of all drugs, even supplements and probiotics, led to my intractable intestinal infection that was so charmingly called "smoldering diverticulitis." But here I am, only a few years later, parceling out handfuls of supplements into a daily pill reminder. I feel old.
My doctor visit this morning was a little unsatisfying. I felt a lot of that "you listen to me but I won't listen to you even when you're answering my question" that pisses me off about MDs. I kept my cool, but inside I was fuming. And still the blood results are not what she needs to start the next phase of treatment. We re-ran the ANA panel, and it once again came back "positive" rather than providing the titers that tell us exactly how advanced and severe my disease is. This is the difference between treating with anti-malarial drugs (which frightens me a little, with my allergy to Cipro and Levaquin -- I'm deathly afraid of anything chemically related and I don't know whether the -quin part is the same as the quinine in anti-malarials) and treating with immunosuppressants or corticosteroids. So I have to go back to that same lab in Boulder one more time. I don't know that I have a good vein left after the hospital stay. This is going to blow.
We also talked about the physical therapy today. I was approved for home health care, but I told them I'd be good on an outpatient basis. So I told the doc this. She scolded me. She asked me what sort of lights I have in my house. (LED) Then she said what sort of lights do I suppose the physical therapy clinics have. (Fluorescent) I'm supposed to be very careful about the light I expose myself to. I had to call back the in-home company, and say I would try it after all. So then we had the talk about whether I'm allowed to have it at all, if I'm not a home-bound invalid. Apparently I can go to doctor's appointments and the grocery store, but if they find out I'm going clubbing then I'd be in big trouble. Good thing I don't ever go dancing, I guess. But what about sitting at lunch for Rotary? Is that allowed? So I also had a talk with the outpatient folks, just in case. Will know soon who I work with and when. It's all so confusing, and I feel too old to sort this out.
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