Dark Humor
When one lives in home with a disabled individual, dark humor often becomes a source of compensation, of relieving tension. My home is no different. In fact, for those of you living with a chronic disease or with someone with a chronic disease, I suggest you take a peek. You might find a laugh too. However, some of it might get a tad personal, so be warned.
December 5, 2007
Doctor Day.
It feels like there should be drums and chimes like on...what's that show? Law and Order?
I thought, as an exercise for myself, I would compare the feelings pre-Doctor Day and post-Doctor Day.
This
may not make sense to the healthy. In fact, I'm willing to bet the
healthy will be thinking "that's stupid". Heck, I think it myself
sometimes. But that doesn't make it go away.
Today is my trip
to the rheumatologist. There, I will be poked, prodded, stuck, given a
cup to pee in, and given an IV injection of Boniva that will last three
months. This is supposed to keep my bones from falling apart.
My
rheumie, as they're known to the lupus/RA/MCTD/scleroderma/etc set, is
a perfectly lovely woman whom I believe truly cares about my health and
well being. We've been fighting this disease for 14 years now. She is
my partner, my super-hero.
When I hurt, and there's truly
nothing she can do, she looks at me with compassion in her eyes and
says "I'm sorry." and she means it.
I am deeply indebted to and fond of this woman. And she terrifies me.
I
suppose the reason is because for a long time, every time I went to her
office, some new, awful thing had arisen. Some new secondary disease
that was going to make my life miserable. It seemed like I'd just get
all the balls in the air, juggling as fast as I could, and she'd toss
me another ball. Not in a mean or malicious way, just because that's
what my disease was doing.
Somehow, I now dread these visits. I get notes in the mail from her...here, go get this test run...always an explanation.
But she is the one who has kept me alive for 14 years.
Last night, I decided I wasn't going. I didn't want to. I wasn't going. Period.
Steve, who has learned this little ritual, said that was fine. I didn't have to go. So okay. I wasn't going.
I
feel compelled to input here that I am coming off dilantin, a seizure
drug, and have increased another of the three seizure drugs I take to
compensate. This weaning, I have learned, makes me right squirrelly
for a bit. Great timing. Squirrelly in time for Doctor Day.
This
morning, after sleeping 11 hours due to the increase in the second
seizure medicine, I felt up to the task, so I'm dressed, Steven is in
the shower (my chauffeur for the day), and I'm ready to go.
Has to be done.
Have
to be monitored. Have to keep kidneys squishy. Have to keep liver
healthy. Have to keep bones from crumbling. Have to keep blood
vessels open. Must survive, therefore must endure Doctor Day.
I
predict I will come back feeling perfectly silly for yet again going
through all this rigamarole, when all is under control for the moment.
11:46 am and I am leaving.
10:16 pm, nearly 12 hours later.
In
a stroke of irony, we were pulling out of the drive as the mail lady
pulled up. There, in the mail, was a letter from the very doctor I was
going to see, telling me the iron issue was not resolved and to take
some and it would be monitored. I'm not sure what the big deal is
about this iron thing. Women are anemic all the time. Unless it is a
sign of something else they are watching about, I can't figure out what
the issue is. Regardless, it means yes, another pill. And iron makes
my stomach hurt. Wah.
The trip was an adventure as traffic was
bad, it was spitting snow, and Oldest Son, age 18, was talking and
driving, once on the cell phone. Only once.
So much has
happened in the last three months and this doctor had not received
notification one about it. SO I had to try to remember it all, give
her the briefing, and find out what she wanted to do. Naturally, the
neurologic stuff was of greatest importance and she is sending for that
info (which she should have gotten already). BP acted up nicely.
Bottom number jumped 30 points between beginning of doctor visit and
beginning of infusion. At least she got to see what I meant about the
jumping around.
The best part of all is that God willing, I
don't have to go through this for three more months. I just don't want
any more mail from them LOL.
I'm not going to say that I feel
the relief I usually feel, but it's done. One more doctor next week
then no more this year. (laughing) Until January 3rd. Wooo wooo.
BONUS POINTS
Whether it was the delivery of three large babies, lupus, age, prednisone bloat, or any number of other possibilities, like many women my age, I find I am a tad, tiny teensy bit incontinent when I sneeze, cough or laugh really hard.
Okay, it's not a little incontinent. It's a lot incontinent. Enough that we are considering stock in the Depends company.
So the big game at home has become "Make Mom Pee Her Pants".
I have very funny kids. I come from a funny family. My husband's offerings towards the issue are usually dry comments which only inflame the kids and get them started further. SO.
If they manage to make me laugh so hard that I make a mad dash for the bathroom, they call "Bonus Points!" If I have to change my pants, the hoots and howls reach an ear splitting decibel.
But hey, at least we have fun with it. Right?