Always Wear Clean Underwear - Part 2

I can’t believe it’s been 2 weeks since I’ve updated the blog. For those of you feeding off my painful, melodramatic experiences, I apologize for denying you such sustenance.

The last two weeks - although somewhat of a blur - have been full of interesting bullshit-type material for the blog - but I feel like I need to finish this damned story before I move on.

I’m actually tired of my “Always Wear Clean Underwear” story – it’s old news for me – but I understand you need a sense of closure, so I’m going to try to finish it without droning on for pages and pages. (That’s actually funny. Droning on and on is what I do best.)

Please know that I’ve got cramps that would kill a lesser woman and the beginning of a migraine, as well as a damned sore throat and a cough – so I want you all to know the sacrifice I’m making to write all this crap for you today! Feel free to leave your comments below my post, thanking me for this - my sacrifice for you.

TODAY'S MENU
Yet Another Diagnosis
Dr. Horse’s Ass
Too Many Vitamins…Or Lung Clot? Hmmm...
Red Alert
Bras Are Underwear Too...Who Knew?
If At First You Don't Succeed...



Yet Another Diagnosis
When last I wrote, I left you hanging at my doc’s office when he asked me why I was released from the hospital with such a low arterial blood gas and I thought to myself, “OH SHIT – what now?”

Dr. C said he was pretty sure I had Orthostatic Intolerance – which is actually quite common in people with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (CFS). Since, in his opinion, Lyme is a major causative factor for CFS, it’s a natural deduction that Lymies would have it too.

Briefly, Orthostatic Intolerance (OI) is when you have trouble keeping your blood pressure regulated from a sitting to a standing position. There are several types of OI, but the two major ones that effect CFSers (& subsequently, Lymies) are Neurally Mediated Hypotension (NMH) and Postural Orthostatic Tachycardic Syndrome (POTS).

Usually, this diagnosis is made after a tilt table test (TTT) is performed by a cardiologist. However, if someone takes your blood pressure lying down, and then standing up – sometimes they can get a good indication of what’s going on without necessarily having to endure the TTT – which I hear can be rather disturbing. Some people puke and faint with it. If I’m going to puke & faint, I think I’d rather just ride a roller coaster.

Those people with NMH have a drop in blood pressure (hypotension) upon standing. Those people with POTS have a dramatic increase in heart rate when standing (tachycardia). My understanding is that both of these conditions can make you want to puke and faint.

So Dr. C – knowing that I’ve been tachycardic for well over a year said he highly suspects that I have POTS. He told me when I see my cardiologist the next day – to tell him, and he’ll probably want to put me on beta-blockers.

I went to my cardiologist the next day. And first allow me to say that I currently do not have a handicap parking sticker (which is about to change.) My cardiologist’s office is connected to my local crappy hospital that I frequent. The parking situation is a nightmare. By the time I got to the building, I was ready to pass my ass out. But I stopped & breathed & willed myself to go on, knowing that if I passed out – even within a hundred yards of the damned ER – they’d probably send out a damned ambulance to pick me up and examine me and charge me whatever outrageous fee they charge (haven’t got my ambulance bills yet – I’m new at that).

I finally made it down the long-ass hallway to the cardiologist’s office and I told the nurse I would need to be put in a room pronto so I could lie down (again, still feeling the need to faint) OR I would be happy to lie on the floor in the waiting room. I was given a room almost immediately. I now know the secret at least to getting to a room faster. I believe I’ll use that tactic again in the future…most likely not as a manipulation, but probably because I’ll need to.

Anyway, despite my dramatic tales from the ER, and my informing Dr. H (for “heart” doctor) about the ER doc’s and Dr. C’s opinion about me having Orthostatic Intolerance (most likely, POTS) – Dr. H instead informed me that my nuclear stress test and my echocardiogram looked fine and that he didn’t think I had a cardiac problem.

So there I was - sprawled across the little doctor table thinking I’m about to have a heart attack or stroke out or something, and I heard him tell me that I need to go back to yesterday’s doc, Dr. C – and tell him that it’s probably one of the medications or supplements he put me on that is causing my "near syncope" episodes!! Dr. H said I’m on soooo many medications and supplements that that is most likely my problem.

I asked Dr. H to give me his opinion about which drug or vitamin might be the culprit, and he declined to answer because he didn’t know. OK – at least he was honest about that. But I just wasn’t satisfied with his lack of attention.


Dr. Horse's Ass
This wasn’t my first big rodeo where a doc had accused my medication as being the source of my problem – despite the fact that other docs put me on the damned medication to begin with.

OK – I’m going on a rabbit trail for a few paragraphs because this seems to be a sore spot with me.

A couple of years ago I went to a new neurologist because my migraines started hitting me daily – constantly…yet the pain was different. It felt like I had a blood pressure cuff around my neck and someone was just “going to town” pumping that little pumper thing and forcing all of the blood pressure into my head. I felt like my damned head with going to literally blow up.

This particular neurologist had me fill out a mountain of paperwork prior to the visit and instructed me to bring in ALL my medications. I’m usually a well-behaved patient (on the first visit, at least) so I complied with that request. I had a huge purse and dumped them all in.

Before this neurologist even talked to be about all of my PRN medications (the ones I take only “as needed”) he said:

“Well, I can’t help YOU. You’re on way too many medications!!”

And then he was silent for a second and just kind of glared at me.

Suddenly I felt like a drug addict or something. I mean, what in the hell was he thinking – that I have a prescription pad at home & I just write my own f’ing scripts?

I was pissed and wanted to cry but I was not willing to give the jackass the satisfaction of seeing me cry. He was called away from the room for a couple of minutes and I just sat there trying to think about what I would say. I was actually in a little state of shock.

I thought, “Should I just get up and leave?” Clearly he’s an asshole and I won’t get along with him, but my headache made me think I was about to kick the bucket, so I stayed.

When he came back into the room, I said,

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot and you have gotten a wrong impression about me. You haven’t asked me questions about how often I use these certain medications and instead you have acted like a horse’s ass towards me.”

This guy was a little stunned that I would have the balls or stupidity to tell him about his “horse’s ass” behavior. Now despite the fact that I was just trembling on the inside - because that’s usually not my first visit type behavior - and again because I was still holding out for hope that he’d give me some magic shot for the headache – I felt good about standing up for me. I mean, nobody else was gonna do it!

I really wanted to call my therapist then so someone else could tell me how proud they were, but she was out of town. So I called my mom, and I guess she was “proud” in one sense – but a little embarrassed in another – because she’s the one who referred me to Dr. Horse’s Ass to begin with because he was HER doctor.

Rabbit trail is over … for now.

Too Many Vitamins... Or Lung Clot? Hmmm...
Suffice it to say – I have a problem when doctors seem to imply that I’m the one that is responsible for having all the medications. Again, for the record, I don’t write the prescriptions!

So back at the cardiologist’s office when he was basically trying to bounce me back to Dr. C – I asked one final question:

"So you mean to tell me that my medications and vitamin supplements are going to make my arterial blood gas (ABG) that damned abnormal?”

Dr. H glanced back at the ABG and was silent for a minute. I trust he was thinking of the best way to swallow his pride. He said,

“On second thought, perhaps we should get you a CAT scan on your lungs pretty quick – to make sure you don’t have a lung embolism, and I’m going to go call your doctor right now to see if there are any meds that could be causing this.”

He then left the room.

Lung embolism? I’m no dummy. That’s the fancy-ass medical term for lung clot. So I’m thinking – dear Lord – I’m really not wanting to drop dead today – or anytime soon for that matter.

Dr. H left the exam room door open, therefore I could partially overhear his conversation with Dr. C. It was funny because when two male doctors talk to each other – at least where I’m from – you can tell they’re part of this fraternal medical “good-ol-boy” mentality.

I heard Dr. H say, “Hey buddy, it’s Dr. H and I have one of your patients here blah blah blah.” And THEN I heard him say,

“Yes, that number is pretty low for such a young woman…which is why I’m so concerned.”

OK – first of all – YES, I AM a YOUNG woman. I know many of you probably thought I was some cantankerous old woman full of piss and vinegar. Hell, I think some of you are just now tuning into the fact that I’m not a man. Anyway, I AM a YOUNG woman…I just think I’ve got a lot of old woman body parts.

Second of all – I wanted to laugh and scream when I heard Dr. H say how CONCERNED he was about my low ABG – which as of yet – no one has taken the time to explain to me to my understanding or satisfaction. What irked me was the fact that Dr. H was ready to bounce my ass out the door UNTIL I called his attention back to the damned ABG!

THIS IS WHY YOU PEOPLE HAVE TO EDUCATE YOURSELF AND BE PROACTIVE, AND YES SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO CHALLENGE YOUR DOCTORS…AND sometimes if the moment is right, you need to tell them when they behave like horse’s asses…provided it is in your best interest to do so.

Dr. H sent me home to rest, and my CAT scan was scheduled for the following morning.


Red Alert
By the time I got home, I think I was in a full scale red alert anxiety attack about the possibility of having a f’ing lung clot that we were going to casually wait around until tomorrow to check on. I mean – if I did have a lung clot – it could dislodge itself and kill me immediately, and quite frankly, I wasn’t in the mood!

I lied down in my bed & went to the internet – which has become my own private medical school. I finally found a website where I could plug in some of the numbers from my ABG and get some kind of cyber-diagnosis of what those particular numbers where indicating.

By inserting 3 of those magic numbers, the computer told me I was in “metabolic alkalosis”. I didn’t know what the piss that was either, but it didn’t sound good. I looked it up and although I can’t remember now what it said, I learned that I could possibly die from that too.

So, without much ado, I emailed Dr. C - twice– and told him about my self-diagnosis with the metabolic alkalosis and emailed him a link to the medical website where he could learn more about it. I know how doctors appreciate it when their patients try to assist with their continuing education.

I informed Dr. C in the email that although I didn’t WANT to go into the hospital – I was ready and willing because again, I was NOT in the mood to die.

HOURS and HOURS later – Dr. C finally called and said:

“Dr. H & I believe your biggest concern right now is of a respiratory nature. So if you feel worse – you are to call Dr. H (cardiologist) and he will see about admitting you to the hospital to find some answers.”

I hung up the phone and thought, “Shit, I feel worse right now. How much worse should I feel before making the decision to call Dr. H?”

I pretty much realized that spending my Friday night at the hospital was inevitable, so I staggered to the shower, washed my oily hair, and then found my best looking pair of “fresh out of the laundry” clean underwear.

Before long, I started having that near syncope feeling again (feeling like I would faint) because it doesn’t take much for that to kick in. Since I was already having the moderately painful chest pains to accompany it – I lied down on the couch and asked hubby to call Dr. H. Hubby did. We waited and waited. Dr. H did not return our call.

Lying on the couch experiencing chest pains, shortness of breath & feeling like I would faint, and panicking about the idea of having a lung clot, I decided we’d just take my ass back to the ER…via the ambulance.

Why an ambulance? Because my van doesn't have oxygen tanks or a defibrillator – not that either would necessarily help if I had a lung clot – but I figured my chances of living through the night might be better if I traveled with all the medical equipment. Besides – if we just drove my miserable ass to the ER –my family & I would potentially have to sit for hours out in the waiting room full of flu people. As a Lymie, I’m already immunosuppressed. I knew I didn’t need the shittin’ damned flu. It was an easy decision.

I grabbed my favorite pillow and blanket – went back on the couch and asked hubby to call an ambulance.

The ambulance got to my house rather quickly, loaded me up & bounced me across my yard on their rolling gurney (in the rain) into their little trauma center on wheels, where they began to torture me physically and emotionally.

Bras Are Underwear, Too...Who Knew?
First of all, have you ever noticed that some paramedics are just “hot” looking? What’s up with that? Is there some city requirement that like 30% of paramedics and firemen must be handsome?

Now, please realize I’m a happily married woman – but I’m not blind. Hot is hot. And I don’t mind glancing at hot guys on TV…but I don’t want them handling me in a medical sense or otherwise. For some reason it creeps me out. I once had a gynecologist who was moderately handsome. I had to stop going to him because, quite frankly, it was just too weird for me. I like my ob/gyns to be ugly and/or really old. (Yes, that was another rabbit trail.)

So back in the ambulance, Mr.”Hottie” paramedic asked me if I’ve ever had a 12-lead EKG before, while another paramedic was practicing his IV skills on my right arm…gouging his way around the inside just hoping to find a damned vein.

I told Mr. “Hottie” paramedic “yes” about the EKG, and then turned back to the moron paramedic that was trying to make mince meat out of my flesh and veins. I let him know he was not doing a good job. He told me to relax and “it’s normal to hurt a little”. I assured him that I had experienced many an IV, and I was certain something was going wrong with whatever it was he was doing!

Meanwhile, Mr. “Hottie” paramedic told me they would have to take off my bra because it has an underwire and he had to put the chest leads around my left breast.

So the paramedics threw me forward and struggled to unfasten the hooks on my bra – which was NOT “fresh out of the laundry” clean! (Ladies – you know how you rarely wash your bra because it wears them out more quickly & honestly, who’s got the time or desire to handwash? So you know how dirty looking the straps can get, but you usually don’t give a rat’s ass because – no one ever sees your everyday bra except you, and you don’t care!?!?)

Because my brain seems to be set on finding the humor in most situations, I thought how ironic it is that I have on my pretty, nice clean underwear – which isn’t going to be seen – not that I wanted it to be seen – but at least I was prepared…but it was now the filthy bra that was getting the public inspection. I wanted to laugh at the irony, but again, moron paramedic was still in the process of hollowing out a portion of my right arm, while the others struggled with the damned bra hooks.

Desperately searching for something humorous to “hide” behind, this comment came to mind: “You guys must be out of practice unhooking bras, huh?” Sometimes my humor is inappropriate and even embarrasses me. Again, learning when to shut up is one of my life lessons.

They finally got my wonder bra unfastened so it just sort of loosely hung off my shoulders – along with the other half of my boob size. I was so embarrassed I was actually hoping I’d pass out so I wouldn’t have to experience the humiliation that I was experiencing on top of all the physical pain.

See – I’ve always felt a little self-conscious about my rather small boob-age (that’s a new word I just made up). As a smart woman, I realize that it is our sex-craved materialistic orally-fixated culture that idolizes breasts and I have honestly never considered implants because I didn’t want to give into that superficial mentality. I know that I am more important than the fat cells contained in my breast.

BUT – after gaining 50 extra pounds – I realized that I looked a little “disproportionate”. It’s my belief that overweight women with big boobs look more proportionate than overweight women with little boobs. So – since I’ve got enough BS on my plate – I don’t want to just loathe myself in the mirror. (And I realize I have some additional psychotherapy work to do with this issue, but honey, I’m busy with other matters such as survival, so stay off my ass. I’ll get around to it later.)


If At First You Don't Succeed...
I finally got to the hospital…blah blah blah. I had a different doctor and I bitched about my low ABG and also happened to mention that that rib that has been trying to puncture my lung was at it again. The doc listened to be breathe; tried to find my mischievous rib (which I was convinced was my costochondritis); said he’d order some tests and give me a pain shot. FINALLY! A doc that cared about my survival AND my comfort level.

After about an hour, the nurse came in and gave the pain shot. It did nothing. I asked her if it was the pediatric dose. I got another pain shot. Again, nothing. I didn’t say anything else because I’m used to enduring a moderate level of pain anyway, and I didn’t want them to mark on my medical chart: "Drug Seeker". Once you get “tagged” – even if unjustly – that’s pretty much the end of getting adequate pain control in the ER. Hey, I watch “ER”.

Before long (you know, about 3 hours later) they came to take me to get the long awaited lung CAT scan. The CAT scan man tried to inject the magical CAT scan liquid into my IV and guess what? It infiltrated! (That means it didn’t go into my veins – it went into my tissues and bloated up at my elbow…which I’m thinking explained why 2 shots of my morophine, toradol, and phenergan cocktail did NOTHING for me. It was because the moron paramedic that was supposed to be finding a good vein for the IV was probably too busy gawking at my filthy bra and at how fast my boobs disappeared when my bra was unhooked. Smutty unprofessional novice bastard!!!

The CAT scan man tried to do an IV. He failed. Somebody else tried to do an IV. He failed too. I wondered if that second person wasn’t the janitor. I was just about to ask for volunteers from the ER waiting room to take a stab at it because chances are there were at least a couple of IV drug users in there and I figured they'd be pretty experienced at finding veins. But finally, some mysterious 3rd person managed to dig around and find a damned vein. "...try, try, again!"

Long story longer – the doc returned 6 hours later after all the tests and torture and said,

"You have some fluid in your lungs – you have pleurisy. The pleurisy was probably caused by a virus (which I don’t remember ever getting) and it will clear up in a couple of weeks on its own. Here’s a script for 5 days worth of Toradol. Go home."

Part of me questioned the validity of the diagnosis – but I was relieved that I obviously didn’t have a lung clot; I had a script for some potential pain relief for the chest pains; and despite bringing my favorite pillow and blanket to the hospital essentially making them now a bio-hazard – I was still uncomfortable and I just wanted to go home. Besides, I needed to wash my bra.