It’s appointment day. Hurray! Yes, you’ve come to the right place, the kind of place where people with pre-existing conditions that are largely home bound get excited about going out, to see the wide, beautiful world, to see a doctor, and hopefully, a diagnosis.
But here’s what’s going to happen.
“Well, we see your lung function is a little low but your blood oxygen levels are amazing. Definitely some inflammation, but otherwise you’re fine. If you’re really lucky, we’ll put you on another round of pregnazone, otherwise you can go home and suffer for waits while waiting for your ‘real’ doctor’s appointment where he’ll say the same thing, treat you like a cog in the machine, hurray.”
That’s not to say I’m not hopeful that they won’t have some useful input but I’m sure it’ll end up in the category of “Keep exercising, eat better, and definitely stop smoking.” What I call a “No shit Sherlock” moment.
At least the entire day won’t be wasted. I worked a half day on Tuesday due to my health hitting a brick wall that day so I’m evening the week out by work a half day today. After the appointment hope I’m feeling well enough to hit one antique shop. The last time we were there I picked up a few vinyls (they have a decent selection) and had an old, old telephone I was interested in (doubt it is there anymore, that was six or so months ago!). But they always have cool stuff, including an older poster about what to do during a nuclear strike, which I’ve been interested in (at least if they’re willing to haggle with me on the price—fortunately this is one of those shops where it’s not a bunch of sellers but just one person who owns and runs the store). I’ll take pictures of whatever (if anything) I score later today.
Then 30 minutes on the treadmill listening to NPR and pondering the state of humanity.
And then, of course, I’m going to hit the bar and chat with my mom on the phone for a bit (been awhile). Going back to previous posts—the whole question “Am I an alcoholic?”—I haven’t had a drink in a week and it hasn’t been a struggle. So am I? I sorta don’t think so. I like to drink sometimes. And I definitely like it if/when it turns the volume down on my voluminous symptoms. Fucking doctors aren’t doing a goddamn thing to help (and still waiting over a week now for a response from my primary). So I’ll chit chat with ma, get a little bit of a buzz, and come home and check out the new Kitchen Nightmares, then spend the entire weekend nursing my symptoms as best I can.