Bad Medicine.
October 31st, 2006 by Kevin
Normally I fall forward when passing out. When I do fall backward, I usually land on my ass, which is well-padded and breaks my fall enough to make whacking the back of my head less hairy.Yesterday, I had a rather unlucky fall and managed to fall backwards and land with the back of my head smack on the edge of the wooden, glass-topped coffee table.
I woke up to my mother yelling “JENNIFER. JENNIFER.”(nice birthday surprise), my body folded into an odd angle, and for one sick moment, I thought I’d broken my neck.
I must have fallen straight back, because I whacked my head so damn hard I sure I’d find something leaking out of the back. It hurt like holy Jesus fuck and seemed to be growing an alien pod.
I was talking with my aunts and uncles the other night, going through the whole How Is Jen’s Health rigamarole, and my Aunt E looked at me and said, “Don’t you just get so frustrated? Because it just seems like stuff they should be able to fix.”
I do, because it does.
It really does.
On a grand scale, what with the existence of things like AIDS and cancer and paralysis, my problems are very small, blood pressure that drops and makes me faint, a messed-up back and neck, and an optic nerve that doesn’t work right (I don’t count the other, dead one); but they loom very large in my life, causing things like blindness, passing out, spasms, and Oh Lord Jesus pain.
At the same time, they are very small problems, just blood pressure that drops and makes me faint, a messed-up back and neck, and an optic nerve that doesn’t work right. Why can’t they just be fixed? It doesn’t seem so ridiculously far-fetched that such things could be fixed. I watch the Discovery Health Channel. I’ve seen doctors fix some outlandish shit.
I want to approach the doctors’ offices like an insistent small child with a broken toy car - You fix it. Fix it. Now, please.
Even though it I am coming up on the end of my sixth year of disability, I still can’t believe that I cannot be fixed - that no MD is going to show up in a sparkling white lab coat and say “Ah-ha! I know exactly what to do with you!” and tinker behind my eyeball with a small screwdriver.
The heart problem seems so minor that I cannot believe I was in the hospital and am not completely cured, to the point in which I am almost apt to blame the fact that I am still on Medicaid for my lack of proper care. I mean, huh?
You must be getting paid less, Cardiologist, because you can’t possibly give this little of a shit for no reason at all - not when I am cracking my head against every hard surface in my house and have told you so, over and over.
I’d rather think you were money-hungry than just a plain old asshole.
And again, it’s not like I’m a wide-eyed naif who is new to all of this. I’ve learned that one has to fight tooth and nail to be heard, most of the time. Still, with every new doctor I am given I think, This is the one that is going to get it.
They still don’t get it, just like the doctor at the pain clinic still doesn’t get why I don’t understand his completely black and white views about my back - either it is non-narcotic drugs and mild trigger point injections - which do nothing for me, or surgery - which I am not about to subject myself to. There is no middle ground.
I know there is a middle ground somewhere. Some therapy or steroid injections or some other such shit would help. The guy just wants me to have surgery, and I’m not going for it.
It’s all just very frustrating and very annoying and no doubt very dull to read about, so I will shut up about it.
Sometimes I just long for that Jetson-esque machine that will suck me in on a conveyor belt and spit me out again, cured, so very much that it makes me ache.
I was up until five, popping Vicodins in an attempt to squash this ridiculous headache, and the bizarre thought occurred to me that if I were a Bush twin, not a damn thing would be wrong with me.
Not that I’d want to be a Bush twin, mind you. But still.
Happy Halloween. I think I have next year’s costume all lined up.
Send morphine.
***By the way - my mother says THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for the birthday wishes and e-cards and lovely e-mails - she was completely flabbergasted and pleased and loves you all.***
le-fart wrote on 10/31/06 at 9:25 am :
Oh, flabbergasted. I would have expected “psyched”, or “rushed”. I thought she was that type to be psyched, or rushed. Flabbergasted…m-hm….
nightowl wrote on 10/31/06 at 9:59 am :
just a curious question about your back. why cant you see a chiropracter? They’re not all witch doctors. They just adjust your back several times a year and your start feeling better. It’s not that farfetched if you think about all the nerves in your spinal column and what happens to the body if your back is wack.
I’ve met some very nice chiros and they’ve helped immensly. I don’t want to tell you about the fanatic jerkoffs out for a buck, but those people are everywhere.
Bozoette Mary wrote on 10/31/06 at 10:00 am :
Oh, doll, take care of that head!
trancejen wrote on 10/31/06 at 10:04 am :
I can’t go to a chiropractor because one of my vertebrae is fractured and there are bone fragments that could move around and damage my spinal cord if improperly manipulated. I doubt any of them would even work on me, but the neurologist has expressly said never to even think about attempting it.
dataslave wrote on 10/31/06 at 8:04 pm :
Tearing my heart reading this, and can see the righteous fear and frustration. Just one of the army of your admirers, but Jeebus, I wish I could help. Like many of your admirers, I’m reasonably informed, and able to learn. Maybe we need open-source medicine! FigureOutJensProb.org?
I kid, but I understand- not 6 yrs worth but some. My teen years were doctor-filled. I came to the conclusion that they are mechanics on a very complicated transport device, but mechanics nonetheless. I’d have felt better if they had a shop rag in their back pocket and their first name embroidered in red above the pocket on a blue chambray shirt.
You are one of the most persistent people on the planet, and deserve kudos every time you walk in a doctors office. Keep pressing, and learning about your own mechanical functions. Keep being informed, and asking informed questions. What’s happened in the last 6 months seem to have been progress, yes? Keep on keeping on, girlfriend. It’ll work out. We’ll be here for you.
Vickie wrote on 11/1/06 at 5:27 pm :
I am not a doctor, but I play one to my friends. My mom was passing out and she got a pacemaker, but not until she actually flatlined while in the hospital. They were all I don’t know why you are passing out, and getting lightheaded, but call us if it happens again. Luckily just after lunch and before discharge it happened while the monitors were on. Her heart just slowed down and kept slowing down and then passing out occurred. When she woke up they were all excited. yeah, we got it on the monitors! Do you know if they have ruled out pacemakers? Seems safer than speed to me. The doctors never explained fully what was happening, but they kept muttering about vaso vago response, and poor circulation.
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