Glitz and Glamour in a Hospital Gown

One of the most frustrating things for me about chronic conditions is dealing with the inevitable occasional (or not so occasional) ER visit.

Explaining that; No, these are not new symptoms. Yes, I do see several specialists regularly. Yes, I do know plenty about my condition and it’s several atypical manifestations that haven’t read the textbook that says they shouldn’t be happening.
I am the prime age and demographic to be seen in the Emergency Dept as a drug seeking frequent flier. How do I know? We have the EXACT same argument every time I eventually get to the point that my normal ten ton ration of daily meds is only the maintainer and I need to break the cycle of pain and misery. A reset button, if you will.

This week I actually had a pleasant experience that was exactly what I needed after dreading even admitting defeat and allowing myself to be dragged, kicking and whining the whole way, to get help. Maybe it was that I was in so much pain that I couldn’t help lashing out when it was asked the seventh or eighth time what the ER normally does for me. Maybe is was just a kick ass PA on for that shift (total shout out to the real-life McDreamy working a 12 hour 3rd shift!) who was courteous, listened, and took the time to listen and acknowledge that, hey, whadayaknow…I know a thing or two about my conditions and am fairly freaking intelligent even when I look like I’m having a stroke and slurring and stuttering on the simplest of words.

Sometimes that’s all it takes. A med reset, and a mind reset. I’m thankful for both this week.

This is why we can’t have nice things…

It’s safe to say I’m a little more than a little… Jaded? Cynical? Bitter? Downright pissed?┬áThis isn’t the first time I’m turning toward writing to spill my guts all over a blank page to hopefully alleviate some of the nasty that has taken up residence in my mind.

Anyone that deals with chronic pain and illness can relate, I’m sure. Sometimes it’s all just too much. Trying desperately to maintain some semblance of a “normal” functional life when in fact our bodies are kicking and screaming the whole way and you know that you are undoubtedly going to pay for your attempt for days afterward.

Sometimes I’m far too wordy. Other times not so much so. Given some of the issues I deal with, the rambling can be a bit much, and my language is deplorable… If you understand where I’m coming from, though….

I think we’ll get along just fine.