I have an appointment on Wednesday. I haven’t been to the doctor in years. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t have the insurance. I thought finally getting approved for Medicaid would be the answer to my prayers. However, it is more a hassle than anything. No one wants to accept Medicaid, but since I am now eligible for it, I can’t apply for the new health care plans without having to pay full price. It’s a ridiculous and vicious cycle. But I digress.
Last week I had blood drawn. 5 vials of blood as a matter of fact. I’ve never been a fan of needles and having that much blood taken all at once made for an interesting morning. However, it had to be done… and it’s been so long since I’ve been tested for anything that they had to test for everything. So I go on Wednesday to get the results.
The funny thing is, I’m scared at what the results are going to be. Not because I think there is something wrong with me, but my bigger fear is that there is nothing wrong with me. That there is no major medical explanation for the way I feel. That all the pain, and fatigue and insomnia and everything else is simply caused by the choices I’ve made along the way.
I’m not happy with my doctor. She doesn’t look at you when she talks to you… she stares at the wall and moves her hands while she explains things, but she will not even look in your direction unless you are facing away. All she did was enter all of my history into the computer. Our first meeting took an hour and a half. Which I get, for the most part. It was the first time she’d seen me and how can you make a diagnosis without the facts, right? But what gets me is that when she told me some of the things that could be wrong, she was reading it directly off of the computer. It actually took the info and applied it into little bar graphs for her to see. It was a friggin app. She checked off the boxes as we talked and the damn thing told her what to say to me. I wanted to scream. Like, can anyone that can use a computer be a doctor now? She called in a prescription for anti-depressants while I was in the bathroom trying to pee in a cup. She never even asked me if I wanted them, I had just told her earlier that one of my symptoms was severe severe depression. She didn’t ask if I’d been on any before, either. Just called in a script. So I had to tell her that I’d already tried almost every one known to man, including what she so diligently prescribed. So she sits in front of her computer yet again and pulls up a list of commonly known anti-depressants, asking me what one do I want her to prescribe for me? She didn’t even know anything about most of them, but was willing to write me a prescription for whichever one I fancied at the moment. I told her I didn’t want ANY. That if none of the others were working then a different one probably wasn’t going to make any difference, either. But, gee, that made me feel even more confident of her doctoring skills. Sad thing is, I don’t really have much of a choice. And it makes me angry. ‘Course, everything makes me angry nowadays. I could write a book.
Anyway, I guess that’s enough for now. Plenty more running through my head, but talking about it usually only upsets me even more. So I wait until Wednesday.