Went to see Doctor Chao today.
But first, I had to do something I am mildly embarrassed about. I had to call up the nice folks at the Community Care Clinic and cancel today’s appointment for Wound Care because it was only last night that I realized Doc Chao and Wound Care were scheduled for the exact same time.
One of them had to go, and considering all the weird scary shit that has been happening in my body lately, it was obvious that it had to be Wound Care.
I needed to see Doctor Chao today. I’m freakin’ out over here.
So I got to see him and told him all about the weirdness that has been befalling me lately, and he listened attentively then seized upon the first excuse to punt the problem to the future and make me come back later.
Typical, innit. Sigh.
In this case, he took the fact that while my primary urine results had come back, the urine cultures had not, and used that as a reason to make me leave so he could move on to the next fee, er, patient.
Which does not make sense, really. Whatever has been happening in my body lately, it has not been urinary in nature. So why wait for urine cultures?
Because that got me out of his hair. Just think, this way he gets to bill the province for two visits even though the next one, on Monday afternoon, will be over the phone.
What I was hoping for is that he would order some bloodwork or whatever to figure out whether or not I have some kind of infection.
I certainly feel like I do. I got muscle aches, a heavy scratchy feeling in my lungs, and a general sense of unwellness and fatigue.
We’ll see what happens over the weekend, I guess. If I end up in the fucking ER because this baby infection turns into full grown pneumonia, I guess we will have our answer to whether or not I have a goddamned infection.
Or something else mysterious and terrifying could happen. I could suddenly start speaking in fluent Swedish and not even be able to understand what I am saying. I could grow wings and a tail as a reward for my service to Satan. I could develop a deadly allergic reaction to cheese.
Anything is possible.
Then again, I have had this sort of problem with every doctor I have ever had. So I am forced to conclude the problem must be me
I mean, that’s just science.
The problem probably boils down to my own lack of assertiveness and inability to advocate for myself. When I am in the doctor’s office, I am feeling stressed in the presence of an authority figure, and my natural reaction to that is to go with the flow.
Just like I did with my Boomer parents.
But afterwards, I find myself wishing I had stuck up for myself, and asked for what I actually wanted, and ask the questions I needed answered .
I suppose in that situation, it’s easier to blame the doctor than myself.
And this happens even when I go in there all ready to assert myself. The moment the doctor comes in, I’m a blob of Jell-O waiting to be pushed and molded again.
Where’s all my firebrand spunk then? Hiding, I guess.
Well hopefully, as I thaw myself out and wake myself up and rouse my broken soul to rise from its badly broken grave, I will gain the ability to assert myself when it matters.
More after the break.
Holy shit, man
I almost forgot to do this part of my blogging!
That’s so unlike me. But I know what the problem was : I had eaten a meal (Big Mac, yum) and therefore the back room of my consciousness decided that meal end = done blogging, so I wandered off.
Lay down in bed to play tablet games, then got up to go to the bathroom and play tablet games while pooping.
Turns out I can multitask, at least a little.
And it was while on the throne (long may I reign) that it occurred to me that it was possible that I had not actually done Part II of my blogging for the evening.
And the sad part is, I didn’t know for sure. In my customary state of confusion it seemed equally likely that I had just forgotten that I did it as that I had forgotten to do it
I am so bad at reality that I swear it should qualify as a mental handicap.
And it’s because my development is so lopsided. All my character points have gone into things like insight, intelligence, talent, and so on.
Almost nothing has gone into developing the rest of me. The basic, visceral, physical world of the senses and concrete reality is almost a foreign country to me.
I deal with it strictly on an as-needed basis, and you would be shocked (and appalled) to find out how little interaction with reality you can get away with if you have no standards and no self-respect and value escape and “safety” above all else.
I know why I am such a mess. I know things went drastically wrong for me in my early twenties and I entered a barely functional emergency mode that I am still in today. When my parents yanked me out of UPEI and forced me to move back home and into my childhood bedroom (!), that crushed my spirit but good.
The Fruvous you know and love is just the version of myself I was able to piece together out of the crumbling shards of my former self.
He’s never been a full person. Maybe he never will be. Maybe I will be just barely limping along staring at screens all day till the day I die.
I hate that idea but until I get myself activated and start actually doing things to improve myself and make myself useful to someone, that fate is unavoidable.
The future is ours if we choose to make it so.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.