Today was a tough day. Healthwise.
I’ve been on a gluten challenge for two weeks now, at the insistence of the celiac specialist I’m seeing. And… she’s not wrong. I need an intestinal biopsy for an official diagnosis, which will make insurance a hell of a lot easier to deal with. And that requires me eating enough gluten to damage my intestines. But…
There are about a billion symptoms that go along with celiac disease (okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration), and I’ve got half a dozen of them at the moment. Most distressing was the realization that I’m not actually absorbing the vast majority of my medications. And yeah, it’s pretty obvious. And no, I’m not going into detail on this one. Rare though discretion is on my part.
I called the celiac doc and left a message that the receptionist promised to get to her immediately. And the receptionist also promised she’d call me back right away. And… I haven’t heard anything. And there could be a multitude of explanations for that, but… This is a problem. Potentially a serious one. Several of those medications are dangerous to go off of, and functionally, that’s what’s happening.
And I’m frustrated that the latest gynecologist doesn’t want to do anything about my never-ending period. She forgot to call and tell me about my biopsy. She acted surprised when she returned my call. She was surprised that I wanted treatment, because I’d refused all treatment. Which I hadn’t. I’d just refused hormonal birth control. But she didn’t want to think beyond that. I remembered something the last gynecologist said (I miss her) about three weeks of progesterone to try to kick start my cycles, and managed to wheedle a scrip for it. But I shouldn’t have to do that. And there are more options than sticking me on birth control.
And then there’s the psychiatrist I tried to make an appointment with. Who insisted that, if he were to accept me as a patient, I’d need to come to weekly sessions with him. But he’s a psychiatrist. He’s an MD. Not a psychologist. He’s supposed to manage medication. Sure, he can require that I see a therapist at the same time, but insisting that I see him – and only him – on a weekly basis while at the same time, in theory, managing my medications is a conflict of interests. It’s also a fairly standard indicator for a shrink who wants to make money more than they want to treat patients.
I’m happy with my therapist. I do well with her. I am not about to switch to some asshole who thinks he knows better, particularly not in the middle of so much stress.
And my mom has breast cancer. Which isn’t new information, although I haven’t mentioned it here before. But that… that knocked me on my ass. That’s why I’m looking for a shrink. Because I need to be functional.
There are good things going on, too. Like being happy with my therapist. And my CPAP treatment seems to helping with my exhaustion. And I’m really enjoying what I’m doing at work. And my air purifier kicks so much ass, it’s hard to find words to do it justice. And my OCD going into overdrive means that I’ve gotten so much shit organized in the past week… And, my Dad was totally there for me today. (You know, when the other doctors weren’t). And a friend from grad school (and his wife – who is a doc herself, and has celiac disease) gave me some great advice. And sympathy.
But today… today hurt.