So first, there was my last IV antibiotic treat at Ambulatory Services. {{1}

And I managed to get through it without becoming a blubbering mess. Traded a few jokes with the nurses, nodded hi to Doctor McLachlan, saw a few of my fellow travelers who were going through the program at the same time as me and so I saw them when we were booked at the same time.

And at the end, as luck would have it, both on duty nurses were nearby so I was able to sincerely thank them for how pleasant they had made the last three weeks of therapy and how easy my time there had been.

Oh, and of course, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I don’t see you nice ladies again any time soon.

Ha ha ha.

Then it was time to hang out in the lobby till it was time for the ol stress test. That ended up being around an hour and change spent reading and chilling in the comfy and air conditioned comfort of RGH’s excellent waiting area.

Or rather, that’s how long it SHOULD have been. But they were running way behind, so my 1:30 pm appointment didn’t happen till 2:30 pm.

Grumble, grumble. Honestly it wasn’t that big a deal. I didn’t have anywhere I needed to go so whatever,

Finally I was admitted (if that’s the right word). I had thoughtfully worn my shorts under my pants so I would meet the “athletic wear” requirement.

But it turns out that pants fall down if you have pants underneath even if you have a belt on. So with my best intentions I was set up for lots of bonus humiliation.

Because I am just not allowed to have dignity.

Then came the test. Me, treadmill, pain. I did OK at the lowest difficulty but the moment it went up a gear I had to tap out.

As a result, I failed the rest. I did not last anywhere long enough to get enough data for any kind of meaningful result.

And I feel incredibly guilty about that.

I keep wondering if I could have hung in there long enough to get a result but I wimped out because I am a pathetic coward and wimp.

Oh well. Next step is to do a chemical stress test where instead of putting on me on a treadmill, they give me a chemical that raises my heart rate artificially.

That sounds awful.

I foresee my having a huge panic attack as a result. I can’t imagine all that energy going in any other direction.

And that might well incite a fucking cardiac event. Lovely.

Now. I would really love to go to sleep. But I can’t because I have to wait for a phone appointment with Doctor Chao some time between 4 pm and 5 pm.

I will stick to my urinary issues for this visit. But honestly, I could go on about getting dizzy every time I stand up, the fact that now and then my left hand and the left side of my face go numb for a little while, my out of control blood sugar and pressure. the severe attacks of depression, and the fact that I feel weaker and more confused and more helpless every day.

Just to pick a few.

Why does being sick have to be so much work?

More after the break.

---

So many issues

There goes my left hand again, “asleep”. Just a mass of numbness wrapped in pins and needles. Left side of my face, too.

I probably should call 911 about it. After all, that’s what I did the first time it happened and I was justifiably freaked by these stroke-like symptoms.

But you know what? They didn’t find anything wrong with me. Somehow, all my ailments turn invisible once I enter that ER.

Oh crap. Now my tongue is numb. Alert level rising.

Where was I? Oh right. My ailments turning invisible.

Just think, if I moved into the ER permanently, I’d never be sick again!

None of this encourages me to go. Then again, every time I go to the ER, they end off by telling me that if the symptoms come back, I should return.

Well they’re back, baby.

And I have to admit, that was the strongest attack yet. So I really should go to the ER and get the cause of this not found again.

Due diligence, and all that. Got to make sure it’s clearly their fault when I present my evidence at the malpractice trial.

Or would it be a hearing?

So yeah. Going to the ER via the wah-wah wagon would be the smart thing to do.

But I am not a smart man. I’m incredibly intelligent, but I am not smart. I am a foolish man who makes poor decisions. I accept this now.

And I am deciding to not call the ambulance this time because I honestly just can’t face all that bullshit right now. The numbness is slowly retreating on its own, meaning that it would be gone by the time I was admitted anyhow, so why spend another interminable period in medical purgatory only to be told they can’t find the problem again?

But I am on alert now. If it happens again I may well go. I am not so foolish as to imagine these are not potentially very serious symptoms. I know I should go now.

Next time for sure. Especially if it’s as bad or worse than this time. Better to waste an afternoon lounging in the ER than to end up a drooling vegetable or a gibbering gimp just because I couldn’t be bothered making the trip.

Meanwhile I will mentally prepare myself for yet another visit to the ER.

Right now, my left hand is 85 percent back to normal, tongue is totally back to normal, and the left side of my face is recovering, with random patches of numbness.

I am so damned sick of being sick.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

[[1]] Don’t worry. Despite the name, those services didn’t move an inch. [[1]]

Tomorrow will be my last day of IV antibiotics at the Ambulatory Clinic at RGH.

And like previous times I’ve gone through that program, I am kind of going to miss it. It was nice having something purposeful to do every day, and even nicer having the nurses there fuss over me a bit each day.

Sad, I know, But I take my nurturing where I can get it.

Glad to know Doctor McLachlan thinks I am now infection free. We beat those nasty infections! Take that, opportunistic microorganisms!

Now I will get bounced back to Wound Care at the Community Care Clinic so they can change my bandages.

So when it comes to nice (mostly) ladies fussing over me, I won’t have to go cold turkey. I will just be down to like, twice a week,

I will miss the nurses at Ambulatory. I didn’t learn all their names but I learned some.

There’s Yana, one of the Russian ladies. Very sweet, works very hard, is very efficient, but there’s definitely an iron will within that smiling warmth.

There’s Edit^[1], another Russian lady. Not very chatty, but very dedicated. She’s the one who worked with the intensity of a high stakes jeweler to get my IV in once.

There’s Lana, tall and elegant, cool and efficient. Just being around her made me less anxious. Always looked fab too.

And finally there’s Lauren, my all time fave, because she is so my kind of person. Funny, informal, and cool. I loved joking around with her. Having someone around I could do that with meant the world to me.

There ya go, ladies. If I am too slow or shy to thank you tomorrow, I have at least immortalized you in my blog.

Speaking of tomorrow, hoo boy is it going to be busy.

First I got that last IV antibiotics treatment at 11:30 am. The trick there will be trying not to get too emotional. That might make things awkward.

Then I have to hang around the hospital until my stress test appointment at 1:15 pm. No big deal. I’ll just read, or veg out on one of the comfy chairs in the lobby.

Then there’s the stress test. It’s something I have been dodging for years now but this latest trip in the ambulance with heart-type symptoms has convinced me to stop dicking around and get the damned thing done.

Vital to that mission is the information I got from the lady on the phone today pertaining to danger. She said the idea of the test was to get my heart rate up to a certain level while I am hooked up to lots of sensors and see what is going on in my ribcage.

I warned her that these days I get out of breath just from standing up so the test might end up being VERY short. She laughed and said that was fine.

So while I am not looking forward to it, I am now confident that these people know exactly what they are doing and are not going to try to kill me in some sort of Kafka-esqe mechanical death march.

After that, it will be back home to wait for my phone appointment with Doctor Chao to talk about a medical issue I haven’t even brought up to anyone yet.

It’s going to be a busy, busy day!

More after the break.

---

Oh. And it’s my birthday today. I just turned 49.

Big fucking deal.

---

Countdown to 50

So I got a year left before I turn fifty without having done anything with my time on Earth and made absolutely nothing of myself but a fat, bloated mass of misbegotten blubber teetering on the edge of as hideous and pathetic a death as befits my waste of a life.

Happy fucking birthday indeed.

I don’t know what is going to happen if I turn 50 without having done anything to advance my life and get the fuck out of this deathpit existence.

But it’s probably not good. For years now I have been telling myself that if I wasd still living the same stupid slovenly life when I turned 50 I would end it all.

At the time, that was just a way to soothe myself with the idea that this hell can’t last forever and that one way or another, I would escape it.

That seemed a lot better than imagining myself living another 25 years of steady decline with each birthday finding me making the same goddamned excuses to justify not facing life yet as I get sicker and sicker and becoming even more of a massive loser as the time when I should have started living gets further and further away.

Face it. Describe my life to most people and they would agree it sounded pretty pathetic. This guy with all these gifts just sits around and plays video games all day even though he’s pushing 50? And he’s never ever supported himself? He’s never had a full time job or even a short term boyfriend? And he may soon die of medical conditions he totally could have under control but doesn’t?

God, what a loser!

And all because I am too fucked in the head to even be able to run my extremely undemanding life properly.

I am one very broken unit, and it’s only going to get worse unless I somehow find it within myself to break out of this jail cell and start having a life.

But I don’t know where I would find the strength. I cast about looking for sources of positive reinforcement within myself but there’s nothing there.

And I don’t know how to find it in the world, either. Because I had such an emotionally starved childhood, I never learned how to feed my spirit.

All I know how to do is how to entertain myself. Typical “Lonely Child Syndrome.” Said entertainment keeps me amused and distracted but it doesn’t nourish my soul at all.

It just makes it easier to ignore the hunger pangs.

I’m in the bottom of a deep dark pit I can’t climb out of because I broke every bone in my body when I fell down here in the first place.

Guess all I can do is wait to die.

Or maybe do it myself if it takes too long.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

P.S. Sorry to be such a wretched bummer on my birthday. But I had to vent my spleen after feeling fine lying in bed then suddenly feeling absolutely horrible after standing up. I think my blood sugar was crashing hard. I dragged myself back from the brink by eating a mandarin orange and I am currently struggling to make myself eat more and, ya know, not die. And the very awful mood above reflects that.

I will feel better later. I am sure of that.

But god damn have things gotten scary for me.