I am one big stewing pot of irritation. I am trying to be patient and breathe deep before I attack, but when one is hurting it tends to shorten one's patience. At best I am extremely uncomfortable, at worst I am in an ungodly amount of pain that prevents me from forming coherent thoughts and getting any kind of rest. I couldn't find a place in my bed that had any comfort in it last night, so I tossed and turned and got up way too early to keep my pain company, because it was obviously lonely. I saw my neurologist yesterday and my little sister came with me, which turned out to be a good thing because I needed someone to restrain me. I had to go to the lab first and have the blood suckers suck some more of my blood, because the umpteen billion samples they have recently taken were apparently not enough. I sat in the waiting room so long I wanted to ask the receptionist if they were back there forging needles from a fire, but Sugarbowl wouldn't let me. I had to give another urine sample and have now wiped myself down with so many antibacterial moist towelettes I should be free from any V.D.s for the rest of my life. After all that fun, we had to walk back across town in their heated tubes over the main city streets back to my neurologist's office, where we had to wait for half an hour to get in. While waiting, I helped myself to an array of their magazines that I felt I may want to read someday... or not, but I took them anyway. I didn't even bother to try and hide my filching, just walked out with my arms stuffed full of their crappy magazines. So if anyone is interested in Garden & Guns let me know, I have the latest copy. We finally get to see the holy, sainted face of my neurologist and by then any good humor I had (none) has run off with all the pain meds I had taken earlier like the little whores they are. Sitting is painful because I don't want anything to touch my back, so I sat hunched over in the chair in an examining room trying hard not to tap my fingernails in a blatant show of impatience while Sugarbowl tried to keep me calm:
Blindbeard: What the puck are they doing? Organizing all their patients' charts by the amounts of blood taken? That should make me first in that pile!
Sugarbowl: Knock it off! They're probably really busy!
Blindbeard: Sooooo glad we raced down here to wait 50 years for them to pluck their nose hairs before they can see me!
Sugarbowl: If you don't stop it, I am going to restrain you and stuff a dirty sock in your mouth!
Blindbeard: This is BULLSH*T! I think I just saw the janitor go by and the lights are going off! Is she dictating her reports first then seeing me after?!
Sugarbowl: Be quiet! They might hear you! Don't make me bitch slap you, Bitch!
After plucking her nose hairs and dictating all her reports from the last month, my neurologist finally remembers I'm sitting impatiently in an exam room waiting for her to sail in, and sails in. I tell her all about the painful band around my back and chest, and she makes a nearly fatal error by telling me that what I am referring to as the "MS Hug" is not how it is usually "presented." Feeling myself turning green and on the verge of huge muscles popping out and tearing my clothes into shreds that miraculously still cover my delicates, I tell her, "Oh really? When I looked it up on the Internet, I found a lot of people describing it exactly as I am "presenting" it!" She conceded that I may be right, which I'm sure killed her to have to admit a person living in an MS body might know how it feels to have MS a teeny bit more than someone who got their information out of a text book. She ran me through the whole examination process and poked me with a bunch of toothpick-like things all over my body, which I found extremely annoying and wanted to shove them up her Uranus and ask her if they felt the same on both sides of her rectum walls. She beat me with her rubber hammer to check my reflexes while telling me that it was highly unlikely that I could possibly be having an attack because I'm on "Tay-say-breee." I resisted the urge to grab her rubber hammer and crack her upside the skull, and instead told her that many people DO have attacks on "Tie-sa-breee;" it does not have a reduction rate of 100% and therefore it is possible to have attacks. Again, she admitted that I was right, and I'm sure she had to resist the urge to hit me upside the head with her rubber hammer.
I had an MRI done last night and am awaiting those results. They wanted to do an ultrasound too, but unless they are going to ultrasound my boobs (where the pain is, along with across the middle of my back), which I highly doubt, I am not interested in going that route unless I have to. I have been really thinking about finding a new neurologist, but my current one is in the MS clinic that is supposed to be the best in this area. I need a neuro that takes me seriously and doesn't try to tell me that what I'm feeling is not what I'm feeling. I was feeling bad about ditching her and finding someone new, but that bad feeling is fading quickly as I deal with this pain that she tries to tell me is not what I know it is -- extremely painful and not normal for me. I hate her.
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