Went to see Doctor Vaezi this morning.
Appointment was at 8:10 am, which is a tad early for me. I am normally asleep then.
But it was totally worth it because I whipped through the usual testing in the space of ten minutes max. It was quite nice.
Helps that I am totally used to the tests and they don’t have to spend time laboriously explaining stuff to me, too.
Chin on the chinrest, look straight ahead, focus on the hot air balloon, flash, easy.
Doctor Vaezi told me what I already know : the left eye is still borked. Surprisingly, the right eye is fine. It’s just a little blurry because it’s doing more of the work.
And as I thought, he stuck a needle in my eye. That anti-inflammation stuff he put in that eye before the surgery. Feels nice and cool in there, so I assume it’s working.
One little problem : this time, I felt it.
Dunno why. Between him and his assistant, they put a ton of the freezing stuff in there. Must have been like 20 drops.
I can only assume that somehow, the stuff didn’t reach the injection site. So I got stabbed in the eye and it felt like it.
Not nearly as bad as it would have been without the numbing, I assume.
It was “Ouch! Hey that hurt!”, not “AAAH MY EYE! MY FUCKING EYE! AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAH! OH, WHAT A WORLD!”.
Hopefully, the anti-inflammatory will work its wonder and at the very least make it so both my eyes are equally wonky.
In a good way.
Please don’t make the right eye as bad as the left.
Otherwise I have felt relatively relaxed and groovy today, at least compared to the crushing existential hellzone of yesterday.
Not that those are all bad either.
I get shit done.
Luckily, I didn’t have therapy today. I don’t exactly have a lot of spoons on my best of days and having more than one “thing” in a day would have been very stressful.
Which is sad.
But it’s the reality I have to live in.
Doing my best to stay pissed off about my lousy life situation.
Because anger is good when it comes to change, at least for me. It’s when I am mad that I gain courage and resolve and a willingness to do what it takes to succeed.
It cuts through my usual flaccid ennui and wakes me up inside.
Sadly, it burns hot but not for long. The light that burns twice as bright burns half as long, and all that. Eventually I will burn up all my reserve fuel and go back to being darkly depressed and unable to act again.
But I will stay angry for as long as I can, anyhow.
Doing so even improves my self-worth. Being mad about my life means I think I deserve better, and that means I value myself and my well-being.
Which makes for a nice change.
Normally I care as little about myself as everyone else does.
More after the break.
My fragile heart
I have to admit that my having a heart defect really works on a metaphorical level.
Almost too well, really. If I was writing the story of my life, I would be very embarrassed to have put something so “on the nose” in it.
But seriously, I have been accusing myself of being weak of heart for years, though not in those exact words.
For years now, though, I have known that my main problem is not being able to get my engine into gear, so to speak.
All engine, no drive.
Turns out that might have been a very positive adaptation that has kept me from having a heart attack or a stroke so far.
After all, if I never really engage my warp drive and keep puttering around on impulse power, the warp nacelles never blow up, right?
Nerdiest metaphors online!
Makes me wonder how long my heart has been this bad and I just didn’t know it because my lifestyle is so sedentary.
No really, that was a health strategy this whole time! Honest!
If my physically weak heart really is a major factor in my emotionally weak psychological condition, then I really want that operation ASAP.
But the fact that Doctor Nuen has “triaged” me to first one surgeon then the other doesn’t fill me with hope.
Instead, it triggers the hell out of my feeling that nobody wants to deal with me and nobody values me and people consider me a worthless burden and are about as eager to care for me as if I was a violently incontinent puppy.
That is probably just my own rampant mental illness talking but it is how I feel right now. Like the medical system doesn’t consider my case important or urgent at all despite the fact that there’s 90 percent blockage in three places in my heart and 80 percent in another place, and 50 percent in a few others.
Apparently, my “ticking time bomb” is their “Meh, whatev. ”
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
Hopefully my feelings on this matter are entirely baseless and insane and it’s perfectly normal to have open-heart surgery treated like hand-me-down clothing.
Trust me. I was the youngest of four children in the Seventies. I know of what I speak.
Never bothered me though. Clothes is clothes.
Hopefully, when my heart is repaired, I will gain a whole new lease on life, with built-in insurance and an option to renew.
If the end of all this is my having an engine that works, it will all be worth it.
Though ironically, after the operation, I will have four to six days of recovery in the hospital and three months of mandatory taking it easy.
Oh well. It’s not like I was looking to pole vault. It’s the emotional effect I seek. I want to feel strong and capable instead of always wimping out when my weak fuses blow.
I want to be able to wield all this power I possess, dammit!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.