You would assume that after all the doctors and specialists I have been to and managed to deal with over the years that seeing a new one would be no big deal.
However this is not the case, for me seeing anybody new is a big deal especially when it comes to going through the long story of how I came to be opposite them in their office.
The utter bullshit literally that I have to go through to be prescribed my meds is a fucking nightmare, worse when I read in the local paper that some rocket scientist has figured out a way to abuse the medication I need to keep my body functioning and turn it into a way of getting fucking wasted.
Therefore turning the whole ordeal of not only dealing with a new dickhead doctor one I hate, but making me feel………..well I don’t actually know the word that goes in this sentence, however whatever the word is that fits there the emotion that goes with it is simply shit house.
Yes well you would have guessed right when beginning to read my words, I have been blessed with facing the bullshit of yet another doctor, now already knowing the I am indeed the queen of five more minutes, and the princess of running late, I have once again left going to a place I hate to the last and I mean last possible minute to get my prescription repeats.
The minute the dickhead asks what he can do for me, I somehow turn from this usually quite well articulated and opinionated person into some stumbling mess, this stutter that I don’t normally have comes out of nowhere, the palms of my hands get hot and itchy, as I attempt to sit there and not claw the skin off of them, and get the words out of my mouth in some kind of coherent language.
Now you may wonder why I get so worked up to put it mildly about going to get my meds sorted, the reason is simple, the reason is thanks to the try hard chemists out there making every single medication I have to take from anti convulsants, to anti-anxiety meds through to adhd crap a fucking schedule 8 medication.
This s8 placed in front of my medications makes it nearly impossible to get any doctor even specialist nervous to prescribe it, some doctors refusing to prescribe it flat-out, sending you away left to feel like your some drug chasing hippie.
Apart from the entire hating the doctors all together, and having to run through my life story in a very short space in time that is allocated as like cows you’re moved through the surgery, the whole degrading effort is something I wish I could skip in my everyday life.
Once a doctor sees my medical records they attempt to hold a face that is somehow expressionless, however over the years I have come to learn the non-expressions that all doctors have.
They all have this shock in their stone cold old faces, as they become somehow overwhelmed by reading my charts, some don’t bother finishing my history, some simply get to page 2 which is the page after my name date of birth and place of residency, as they pick up their telephone and make a call to the pbs, to gain an authority number to gain me access to the chemicals that will continue to keep me functioning for one more month.
This is where my hate of going to the doctors defiantly steams from alongside with the fact that I know more about my condition than any doctor regardless of how long or where they went to gain their formalised study could ever learn.
For me living with brain tumours and their side effects is far from a fun-loving and joy filled experience.
In fact it’s a daily battle between my body and my brain to win to get up to keep going, to function. Alongside the other wonderful things that these aliens in my brain have caused, like the whole convulsions thing added to that the acute panic disorder which gave me this agoraphobia thing, which of course led me down the track of insomnia, and god only knows what else.
Not to mention the agony I get when I get these stupid fucking cluster headaches, which for the most part are few and far between provided I keep my blood at a fairly thin level, thankfully I have been able to cut out a lot of those chemicals that I was first prescribed along the highway of hell into finding a diagnosis for me, yet the main ones that I was unable to cut out, well I simply need them to live.
The blood thinners like warfarin, which like insulin had to be injected into my skin three times a day, thankfully I replaced with plain aspirin, and ibuprofen, which suits me fine considering the whole ordeal that a person who is insulin dependent on or any other medication that may require a syringe to administer unless their 100 years old, well they are looked at like junkies when going into the chemist to purchase sharps kits or worse when you use a community needle exchange to get rid of old containers and swap them for new ones.
It never ceases to amaze me the assumptions that people can come to, and often do come to especially when it’s in relation to medications and the likes of.
People assume when they see you leaving a shrinks office that you’re a complete crazy person a head case, you have no idea about reality, they assume that when they see you leaving a needle exchange you’re a rip-roaring junkie who belts up speed or heroine, they don’t stop to consider anything outside of those stigmas, hell no.
It kind of pisses me off in reality, I mean shit I used to go to the needle exchange to take my diabetic dogs needles in and get new ones for him, due to the fact the fucking insulin cost enough why the hell would I pay more for his needles which were the same as the human insulin ones, incidentally the same needles that yes our friends the good old junkies use also.
Popular little pricks these needles seem to be, none the less people really need to pull their heads in.
Suffice to say I am blessed today by meeting another new fucking doctor, and having to go through the entire load of bullshit again, I sigh as I finish my rant, and go and get ready to meet some new moron who probably doesn’t speak a great deal of English much less have a fucking clue what he is about to read on Angels Chart.