I went to the doctor.

All I will say is that they were absolutely no help at all, none whatsoever, and managed to reduce me completely to tears.  I will deal with them later.  Mostly, right now, I hate the medical clinic in this town.  I hate it, I hate the doctors, and I hate most of all that they are my insurance’s only preferred provider.

So I’m going to dope myself up a little more, and then I’m going to go get Anna and have a lovely Christmas.

Okay, actually, there will be a short, controlled rant.

I’m very angry.  I want to drive over to that clinic and gather the staff in the office and yell at them.  At some point I will call them and be pointed, but I’m really, really irritated that I have something wrong and was made to feel as if I were a bother, as if I were an idiot, and that after being treated with irritation and impatience after fifteen minutes was given a diagnosis of "probably fibromyalgia." No explanation of what that was, or what I should do, outside of keep taking ibuprofen, and maybe this other drug.  That’s it.

You know what?  It isn’t normal for my arms to fall asleep at night, for my ass to feel so cold I can barely tell it is there, for me to have pain in this muscle that I don’t know its name.  It isn’t right that I have to wander aimlessly through energy therapists and massage therapists and acupuncturists because THEY’RE THE ONLY ONES WHO EVEN TRY TO HELP ME.  I shouldn’t have my feet and toes falling asleep.  I should be able to feel all my fingers.  I don’t give a damn that it doesn’t happen every day or in some regular pattern.  It’s your job, fuckwad, to figure that out.  You should order a goddamn test, more than some lab for arthritis, before you give me some disease with no real cure, and if you give the damn disease YOU SHOULD TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IT IS.

I hate that doctor.  I hate that clinic.  I am furious that I have to go back there or pay through the nose for out of network coverage.  I’m furious that I have to do my own research, that I have to steel myself just to go in for a simple appointment and EVEN THEN they make me cry.  

You know what, clinic I can’t name so I don’t get my husband in trouble?  FUCK. YOU.  Fuck you and your goddamn shitty medicine.  Fuck you for being so cold and unhelpful.  Fuck you for making me sob through Christmas Eve to the point that I couldn’t even go get the lab drawn because I was crying so hard.  Just fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.  

If I could just ignore this, I would.  If I didn’t hurt so much, or if I could continue to limp by on alternate therapy, I would.  But I need a diagnosis.  I need a doctor to see me.  I need tests.  I need competence.  I will give you fuckers one more goddamn chance because I don’t want to spend too much money, but I’m already consigning myself to not being able to take Anna to the ocean because I have to pay for out of network medicine.

What I hate more than anything is being so powerless, of being in the position to let anyone make me feel this lousy. I hate you for that more than for not treating me.

I also hate that I am so emotional that I either have to punch somebody out or sob, and I always chose the sobbing.  I know it’s the right one, but I hate that it makes me look so weak.  Goddamn it, you asshat, I’m only crying because it costs too much to go over there and strangle you.

In the meantime, I will get to spend Christmas not just in pain, but without a real plan of how to manage it. Thanks, assholes.  Thanks a lot.

Merry fucking Christmas to you, too.

7 Comments on “I went to the doctor.

  1. Oh, ugh. I’m so sorry to hear it. That’s so not ok of them. I hope you do get a reasonable diagnosis and treatment soon, without having to kill anyone or give up and arm and a leg. And I hope you can manage to have a merry Christmas anyway.

  2. Gentle hugs to you. I have heard that [unnamed clinic] tends to treat women horribly, flippantly, or not at all. I think we’ve even talked about this before. It really sucks that Dan’s coverage is such that you’re strongly discouraged to go anywhere else… you know, someplace that WOULD HELP. Feh. They act like can do (or not do) whatever they want because they dominate the region, and they know it. Sigh. I can’t really offer help, but I can give you sympathy. And cookies.

  3. I’m so sorry this is happening to you. I have a very close friend, , that was diagnosed with FM a few years ago. I’ve heard horror stories from her about so many women that couldn’t even get a proper diagnosis, let alone a treatment plan. Maybe she could be helpful to you for more information.
    I’m sure you’ve researched online about the condition and how extremely difficult it is to find answers or professionals that are helpful. No one seems to understand it; symptoms vary greatly. Most doctors, whom I hate with a passion, want to prescribe painkillers, including high doses of narcotics, to mask or manage pain, but offer little or nothing to treat the condition.
    I pray that you’ll find some relief soon, my dear. Try to enjoy the holiday as best you can. xox

  4. I offer you a very gentle hug.
    My girlfriend just got her diagnosis of FM, so I know a bit of what you’re going through. You have my support, and if you need help, just say so.
    Try to de-stress…take it easy. There are some really good communities online that target FM and similar conditions specifically. There will be adjustments in your life, but you can get through this.

  5. I know what it’s like to have a doctor ignore your concerns and/or dismiss you. It’s as if the doctor is telling you that you don’t know your own body or that your opinion doesn’t matter. It makes you want to demand your copay back. What the fuck is with healthcare in this country?! I know that you will get the care you need and deserve. It’s just too bad that we have to search for and demand it.

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