It's the Little Things, I Tell Ya

It’s the stupid little things that git ya and the little things (even stupid little things) that make it worthwhile.

First off, had a really productive doctor’s visit with my youngin’ doctor. It should have been unnecessary, but sadly, for me, it was, and it was probably an eye opener for her. While Mr. Shoe and I are understandly annoyed as hell at the situation in general, it certainly wasn’t specifically at her. And I do think she was a bit lost and casting around for a month or so. I understand, and I think it was unintentional and I knew it had to be pointed out if it were in fact the case. Anyhoo, it boiled down to her wondering exactly what we were expecting from her as a generalist. We told her. And (it was sorta cute) she said in amazement, “So, wait — you just asked me to do what I normally do as a primary care doctor? That’s what primary care doctors are supposed to do.”

It is, I guess. You don’t find too many out there who are willing (or able) to do that, though.  If she finds it a foreign thought that someone in her position wouldn’t do the job description to the best of his/her abilities, then she is seriously someone I totally want to work with.

And we’re finally going to be able to make the whopping 2.5 hour drive to see my parents shortly. We haven’t been up there since April when my dad had his heart attack and subsequent surgery fun.  Before that, Christmas. Okay, right, what’s a two and a half hour drive when I’m a passenger right? The way I’ve felt, it’s hell. It’s impossible. It probably is still going to be an ugly few days of recovery later. But at least I can make it now without needing to cart three 24 pack pallets of water and having to pull over every ten minutes on 95 and the Spaulding Turnpike to find a bush to hide behind. Truth be told, packing for a trip up will be a feat. I don’t care. I mean, hell, sitting here sucks.

At least my dad is doing really well. Okay, the clutch went on his new truck and he’s bull (a sign he’s doing well), but he was cleared really quickly to go back to work (it was only like a month after the surgery) and he was allowed to tool around on his tractor mid-summer. My mom is just as happy she’s been relegated to push-mower work — my dad tends to think if it doesn’t have a “purposeful looking” flower in bloom right now then it is a weed to be shorn down.

I wish I could write more at OStatic and a few other places that have called upon me. I was paid a great compliment by the Historical Society, and hell, I wish I could get back there and help them out.  I know (as doctors not directly involved in my case keep telling me) that we might not have an answer any time soon — or ever. But y’know, there are metric f-tons of connective-tissue and neuromuscular and autoimmune disorders that are unspecified and uncategorized, with the type of disorder determined by what tests show (or don’t) and clinical history and presentation. I don’t need it to have a name. By this time, I’m sure if it does, 87% of the doctors I’ll run into in my lifetime won’t ever have heard of it, so it’s almost irrelevant anyway. But it’d kinda rock to know what’s busted and the suspected mechanism of the busting, so that we can do whatever we need to to get things closer to where they should be. If I have to play symptom whack a mole, fine. I know I’m probably never going to have a day I feel great again, and I have to be okay with that. I guess I am as much as I can be. I’m probably not going to have days often I feel even really good for a large part of the day, and I’ll deal with that too. But man, I know it can be better than this. I think we’re closer to at least a ballpark answer, but I don’t expect anything to unfold too quickly. If it does, that’s probably bad news, actually.

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