Grrrr

First of all, stupid router is sporadic. Need a new one.  Need cash first. Sometimes it comes on and is cooperative. Other times it needs to be reset, only to go right back out.  That big red "X" infuriates me.

Secondly, Dr. No-Fly-List postponed my appointment until the 13th. *sigh* At least the 13th is not on a Friday. I actually do *feel* better on prednisone, but am not really better, if that makes any sense. It has hideous side effects, so I both love and hate the drug. It's like a magic pill - as soon as it's stopped the symptoms it was helping come back worse than ever. It is like an item in the Steven King store, Needful Things.

What I'm really holding out for is the appointment with Dr. Whackadoo on the 11th.  I have been hoarding pain pills since the last visit with the cardiologist, so I have at least one to take at bedtimes in the hope that I can at least get *some* uninterrupted sleep.  SO so so very tired of hurting and not having a full range of movement, and a whole frigging xmas list of other things related to pain of which exhausts me just to think about.

NITRO

Nitroglycerin
Tiny little bitter pill
I hate you so much

(bad haiku #something I don't remember)

PLbbbbbbt

My brother was supposed to visit me this weekend.  Monday through Friday, his alter ego is a UPS man.  Apparently he hurt his back at work last week and has been consuming Vicodin like sweet tarts.  Probably no visit for me.

He did say that now that he knew my little grinch heart wasn't going to stop cold within the next few hours, he felt better about eating his Vicodin and staying home.  Meh.

It's ok, I don't think I could have put fresh sheets on the spare bed without screaming.  Not to mention the rest of my pigsty is not very stylish these days. I guess it evens out in the end.

Whackadoo's Nurse

Whackadoo's nurse called me and wanted to know how I was getting along on my new dose of prozac. I gave her a good talking-to.  I told her I was not sleeping because of pain, NOT because my prozac dose was too high.

Picture this...I'm sleeping, I turn over, the turn puts pressure on my ribs, causing a sharp pain, causing me to wake up.  Pain is keeping me up, dammit.  Pain.  Did ya f*n hear me that time, ya silly twat?  Usually when people make appointments with pain doctors it means they have PAIN.

Despite this ridiculous phone call, my mood has improved today. Now that I know my heart is not going to immediately blow up, I feel slightly better.  *eyeroll*

YAY

No new blockage!  Prayers/good vibes worked!

The heart doc actually said to me, "Your heart looks almost normal, well...except for that dead part at the bottom."   -.-  (The *dead part at the bottom* being where the heart attack actually occurred.)

I am still very sick, but at least I know it's not my heart, which is a relief all its own.

So now we look elsewhere for the weakness and shortness of breath. The Neurologist takes over at this point.  I get a muscle biopsy on the 20th, and immediately after that I begin taking a giant daily dose of steroids.  I should be  bulky and surly by the first part of October. If I have to stay on that dose, by December I should be able to make the power lifting team without even trying. (I am teasing, of course) (Gasp: maybe my ass knobs will fill out?)

They expect the steroids to also help with my pain issues, since they believe the pain to be caused entirely by inflammation.

And yes, I told the heart doc that the pain doc was a complete whackadoo.  The heart doc refilled my oxy, and will be calling the whackadoo to "give him a good talking-to."    *eyeroll*

Pain Quack

What a crock. He's reducing my Prozac dose.  I told him I was severely depressed.  I told him I cry every day all day for no apparent reason at all (well, other than I'm depressed).  He thinks it's keeping me from sleeping.  Dammit to Hell, I went there for intolerable pain, not for sleep deprivation. He wants to see me in 4 weeks.  He said they work on one drug at a time.  Fuck him.

Tomorrow I see the heart doc again to find out about any impending doom. I get the results of the hurty screamy echo test and the thallium stress test. The last time I was at this point, they ordered a cardiac cath to find out exactly where the impending doom was, and 3 days later I was having a bypass. *sigh*

I am also complaining about this Dr. Blotner character, the Pain Specialist, who apparently is of the belief that taking away an antidepressant is the same as prescribing an analgesic.  All I know is I cannot wait 4 weeks for a pain script.  SOMEBODY is gonna have to get off their ass and write one for me, and it better happen...um....7 pills from now. 

Incidentally, it pisses me off that prescription refills have to go right down to the wire.  Dammit one or two days is not gonna make a rats ass in terms of dosing, but it sure as hell can make a big difference in planning a car ride or a delivery or a pickup.  I HATE the stupid drug industry in all its various guises.

Hanging On

One more day and I get to see the neurologist. Maybe he can help with the pain or the inflammation causing the pain, or even some of my weakness. I really hope so. I don't want another heart operation.  This has just GOT to be something else and not another blockage.  I think if it was a blockage they would have seen it the first time.  At least, I hope this is the case.

This particular neurologist I had seen last year at which time he ran a bunch of tests.  I had a follow-up visit scheduled with him, but his nurse called me and said he had left the country for whatever reason and they wouldn't let him back in - apparently he was on the watch list.  Jesus.  So now he's back, and not a moment too soon.

One more day.  I've been doing that a lot lately, hanging on for one more day.   Sometimes hanging on for one more hour. I hate grasping at straws, but the neurology straw is only one of two I have left.

420

The cardiologist's nurse actually suggested I get some smoke.  I asked if I could get a prescription.  Nope, this is not a state in which they hand out prescriptions.  Naturally.

Besides, I'm sure smoking would help my heart. She said, "No, silly, you eat it, or take it in a pill."  *sigh*

I'm sure IF I could come up with something it wouldn't be in edible form, or pill form for that matter. And I'm not in a brownie baking mood, FFS.

Look, I have a bad heart.  My bad heart is not getting better. WTF is the big deal with prescribing narcotics if I'm not gonna get better?  WTF is wrong with you people?  I HURT, goddammit, I hurt.  How much more plain can I be? You can actually look at my chest and visually see where it hurts.

I have to look into hospice care, pending next week's tests.  Maybe they won't be so tight with the friggin drugs.  This is beyond ridiculous.

5 days

I am so horrifically sore I can barely move. My natural inclination is to wrap my arms around myself just under my boobs and press as tight as I can.  That actually does make my chest feel a little better.  It makes me wish they still taped ribs.

(Which now makes me wonder about some kind of soft corset or even if a longline bra would help me--I see more catalog orders in the future).

 My first appointment is Wednesday.  I just have to hang on until then. Until then I will just have to continue to suck. Wednesday at least provides some gimmer of hope, however small.

No Comprendo

Geezo I woke up at 4:00AM, my usual, but I was dreaming I was in Mexico trying to buy drugs.  Oddly, I was walking, and holding a hammer.  I have never been to Mexico, but my dreams think it's hot, dry, and dusty like an old Clint Eastwood movie. 

The Mexico of my dreams is strangely devoid of people, except of course, the girl behind the drug counter at the pharmacy who kept saying, "no comprendo." 

Even my dreams piss me off.

I have one pill left.