I am so goddamned randomized lately.

Hence my not getting around to eating my LUNCH until 5:15 pm, three hours before I eat again at Denny’s.

I didn’t plan it out this way, of course. I planned to eat when I got back from my Wound Care Clinic appointment, which was at 2 pm.

Got back at 3:15 pm. Took longer than before because I have so many dressings now. My nurse was a cute Gaysian named Steven, which was nice.

Not to knock any of the lady nurses I have had. I just have a thing for cute men in caring professions and that made the whole process that little bit better.

Not that I was sitting there with a boner in my heart and a creepy smile on my face the whole time. I would never do that to someone.

It just made being tended to and looked after a tiny bit sexy,

And that was nice.

Anyhow, got home at 3:15 pm but was way too sleepy to even contemplate making lunch, let alone eating it while blogging, so down I went.

So now I am here typing away this late in the day. It feels ridiculous, and like I have screwed up big time.

On a deeper level, I feel like things are slipping out of control and there is nothing I can do about it. These attacks of sleepiness when I should be eating are intense and not the sort of thing I can just shrug off.

Or maybe i could, if I wasn’t such a pussy.

But I am, so I can’t.

I am starting to wonder if I would be better off eating right before my usual times and seeing what happens then. That way, I would at least get the food into me closer to the usual time and exert some kin of control over my freaking life.

I would hate to have to go back to doing all my blogging in one sitting, at night. I really like my bipartite blogging system. It spreads things out just enough to keep me motivated and interested throughout the day,

But this random shit has got to stop. It’s not good for me and my diabetes. I do best when I eat at the exact same times ever day. That way my body knows what to expect and can get use to the routine.

But tell that to my goddamned brain. It keep usurping the body’s agenda by forcing me to sleep when I should be eating in the afternoon and until that shit stops, I am going to keep lurching through time like a drunken Lurch.

And my usual remedy of Diet Coke doesn’t seem like it’s strong enough any more.

What’s next, cocaine? Electroshock? Toothpicks holding my eyelids open?

The sad truth is that I am going to need even more sleep after I am done here, even though I only have an hour in which to nap.

I am sleeping my life away and it’s pissing me off.

More after the break.

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So very weak

So while my surgeons ignore me, my heart condition gets worse.

Now, just getting from the apartment to the car feels like a marathon. All I am doing is walking from the apartment to the elevator and from the elevator to the vehicle, and yet it hurts in a way that makes me very, very worried,

Which is, ironically, bad for my heart.

My heart starts beating really hard, hard enough to be heard in my ears, and i feel like I am not getting enough oxygen, and I get all panicky and squirrely.

And I wonder if I should be telling someone about this. It seems pretty bad. But who do I tell ? And how do I know it isn’t something minor that won’t even show up on tests?

After all, earlier this month I was admitted to the hospital with symptoms I thought were pretty serious and they hooked me up to the heart monitor for three hours, plus did a bunch of other tests, and found nothing.

And despite my brave talk about it’s better to be safe than sorry, I felt guilty and embarrassed. And that makes me reluctant to bring it up again.

And I know that is definitely wrong according to medical dogma. The dogma says patients should tell their medical professionals about anything they might think the medical system ought to know, even if they think it’s probably nothing.

But that doesn’t take my crippling social issues into account. I am very prone to feeling like my concerns are unimportant and not worth bringing up and like wasting other people’s time for something that turns out to be no big deal is a terrible crime.

And that’s the sort of thing that just might kill me one of these days.

“Mister Bertrand! Why didn’t you tell the nurse when your eyes started bleeding?”

“She seemed busy. I didn’t want to interrupt. ”

That’s why I keep telling myself that the next time I am in the hospital, I am going to go ahead and be loud, obnoxious, and demanding.

Or maybe just snippy and officious and cold. That is a lot easier to maintain over the long term and can be quite fun too.

But even that, meh. My base personality is affable and accommodating and really wants people to like him. I am not built for grumpiness, however justified.

This is why I need a medical advocate. Not just to keep all my appointments and instructions and medications organized, but to speak up for me and advocate for me when I am feeling timid and confused.

Once I get my bearings and I am sure of my case, I ain’t timid any more. I can stick up for myself just fine once I get the facts straight.

But until then, I could really use a loudmouthed advocate who will protect my interests even if it means making a royal pain of themselves.

Anyone up for the job? 🙂

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.