Words are my thing. I live to write. It’s true that I haven’t blogged in a very long time. Mostly it’s due to working on another writing project that makes my head tired. I’ve started a few posts but didn’t follow through on finishing them. Such is life.
There are times when my being is so full, I have to skim a layer or two off the top. My frustration is ample and it’s necessary to release some of this bilious exasperation. I have a great deal of interaction with doctor’s offices due to my medical issues and those of my elderly mom. This past week I experienced an overdose of medical office experiences.
As a frame of reference, a few years back I was consistently feeling unwell. Malaise, lack of energy, overall fatigue, etc. It took almost two months to figure out what was wrong and it was pretty much by accident. However, I am keenly aware of the pervasive assumption once medically-affiliated folks read my chart and spot the depression and anxiety diagnoses. I cease to be a physically ill individual. Yes, this is a generalization but I’ve dealt with this for forty years now.
Since I have a variety of “invisible” chronic illnesses, my stoic appearance belies my daily reality. Look, I’m aware that there are a myriad of folks who deal with very serious and traumatic illness. It isn’t my intent to take away anything from them. On the flip side, it also doesn’t mean that many of us are dealing with day-to-day piddly-diddly stuff. If you can’t see it, it doesn’t really exist, right? And Lord knows, if you have mental health issues everything is all in your head, isn’t it?
I’ve been wanting to get back into the swim. Start slowly with water aerobics and build up to lap swimming. I miss the water. But in the last few months I’ve been having some problems with being short of breath after even minor exertion. Process of elimination for me so I started with the cardiologist. Long story short, I did a treadmill stress test the other day. I should say I attempted one. I failed. Was shut down after three minutes. Embarrassed and mortified at “failing,” I was at least gratified to see an oxygen saturation of 89. Not in my head this time. My BP also skyrocketed. Nothing is worth doing if not done well, am I right?
Handful of hours later, I received a phone call from my doc. And after almost twenty years, I’m still addressed by the formal form of my first name. “Blah blah, a concern but not really blah, blah adjust these meds blah blah wait a minute blah blah just double your blood pressure med blah blah I’m leaning toward it being pulmonary. I will send in a new scrip for the increased dose. Bye.“
Yes, my life has been reduced to staring at the phone. No mention of a follow up. In my opinion, my resting BP which is slightly elevated doesn’t warrant a doubled increase. However I didn’t go to medical school. I only went to teacher school with just a Masters degree in English, ewwww I hated English class is the usual reaction.
Angry and frustrated, I hoped my thoughts would be clearer the next day. Ironically I saw my primary the next day for a different follow up. I mentioned my recent experience. My blood pressure was still slightly elevated but my primary was shocked to hear my med was to be doubled. I left feeling more undecided.
Here’s the deal. This is a rant on todays current state of affairs regarding our health insurance companies. They’re all about the money and could care less about our health. Hey, that’s similar to our politicians. Never mind. Our doctors are not allowed to spend time with their patients. They are driven by time, a precise amount of contact time allowed by the health insurance companies. It does not give them time to know us, to listen to us, to understand us. No wonder things are missed, mistakes are made, people like me are frustrated.
It won’t keep me from advocating for myself or from asking questions. While I do not like having my questions or thoughts dismissed, it’s really the only option because that’s how it works these days. It leaves too many things swirling through my head. Dylan Thomas, one of my favorite poets, reminds me “Do not go gentle into that good night.” Once a bit of a door mat, I am no longer. I will speak for myself and I will be heard.
As to the state of health care, this feeling comes to mind. “Is that all there is, is that all there is?” I haven’t been able to adopt Peggy Lee’s suggestion “If that’s all there is my friends, then let’s keep dancing/Let’s break out the booze and have a ball/If that’s all there is.” Sadly, dancing would leave me short of breath and drinking would raise my blood pressure!
I will continue to “rage against the dying of the light.” And as the Chairman of the Board used to sing “I’ve been up and down and over and out/And I know one thing/Each time I find myself/Flat on my face/I pick myself up/And get back in the race.” Man, I love words. The next time the impersonal “blah blah” talk starts, I will channel Joe Biden and think, “Will you shut up, man?” Hopefully the words will stay in my head and not exit my mouth.
Stories Are For Eternity 