It's taking a lot of strength right now not to start dripping tears on the keyboard. I'm not sad, but I'm in a hell of a lot of pain. Nothing is making it go away, and I'm not allowed pain meds save for Tylenol in an emergency because of what happens when they go into my system. Allergies are fun.
So why, you may ask, are you not taking those meds now? The answer is simple: If I took them every time the pain got this bad, I'd be popping pills daily. That's unhealthy for anyone, let alone someone who doesn't mix with pain medication. But here's the real kicker:
We went to pick up a report from the rheumatologist I saw back in March, just because everyone kept saying something about a "condition" I needed to be treated for that was causing my symptoms. What condition?
Stress.
What.
Let's back up here for a second. You're going to write down that you questioned the veracity of diagnoses whose physical evidence was documented in black and white, that I had no signs of joint pain, no back pain, an unremarkable birth and childhood, no symptoms of abnormal blood pressure or Raynaud's, and that I was really just stressed out about my dad living in the same place as me? You don't get to negate what has already been diagnosed with laboratory testing and imaging. Those diagnoses are up to the specialist, not some hotshot rhumatologist who thinks he's so smart and has it all put together.
How about my yelling to stop moving my leg because it hurt too much, or the stiffness in my hip? That wasn't "potential arthritis", that was my tendons growing thicker and stiffer to hold a joint with fraying connective tissue in place. Should've known, Doc. Shouldn't have taken MRI's to prove the obvious, and they only help my case and make this guy look like more than an idiot.
So now we have to go get that report removed and he refused to speak with my mother on the phone until we made an appointment and came in. Con artist.
