I’ve been blessed that I’m not much of a worrier. My mother and both of my brothers tend to worry about things, but for the most part for me, when something is done, it’s done for me. When I can’t control an outcome, I tend to move on.
That doesn’t seem to be the case today. Continue reading
You and me both Stitch 🙂
This will always leave me momentarily speechless, but there actually are a lot of people who believe that the healthcare system in the United States lives up to its optimal potential. Let’s just say that those people and I aren’t on the same page. Crap, we’re not even reading the same book. We may be in a completely different language, for goodness sake. Continue reading
So far, everything on this blog has been cheerful. I have good days and bad days, and on most of the bad days I don’t have the energy to write a blog. Only a few people see me on those days, and I’m sure that although they are glad that they could be there for me, they wish they had never seen it. I’m a shell of myself. I don’t laugh, I don’t smile, I don’t joke, I don’t play, I barely even move. I turn on the TV and lose myself because being present is too painful. Every time anything touches my feet, it feels more like someone is slamming in it a door. Every time I take a step, it takes all of my strength to stay upright and not break under the pain.
Something to make you smile on your most cynical days 🙂
When I woke up this morning, I knew I had an appointment to see a new doctor – a neurologist. I haven’t seen a neurologist since I was probably ten years old. Since I got the diagnosis of Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy, I’ve spent a lot of time in the waiting room at pain management clinics. There’s no cure for RSD, so pain management was the obvious route, and because these doctors gave me at least a bit of pain relief, we stuck with them and never saw another specialist.
Despite my doubts over the years of my diagnosis, there was never a doctor that questioned it. I would meet a doctor and explain to them that my symptoms didn’t really match those of someone with RSD, and it was like the doctors had on sunglasses and could only see my condition with that color lens. No matter what symptoms I was showing, I had RSD. That’s the trouble with diagnoses: yes, they simplify processes and give a name to the face of someone’s demons, but once you get diagnosed, its difficult to move outside of that realm. Continue reading