It’s a rainy Saturday morning. I’ve been antsy lately, but simultaneously lethargic. I want to travel. I want to go and do and be and have adventures.
I’ve been going to physical therapy twice a week since August and it has worn me down emotionally and mentally. I have been going to various doctors for various other ailments of late, too. I’ve been seeing the orthopedic staff for the foot problem (tendonitis) that landed me in PT, followed by a diagnosis of “no arches” in my feet that has hence kept me in PT until yesterday, added an ankle brace to my wardrobe accessories, and caused me to have orthotic insoles installed in a new $150 pair of tennis shoes that I hate and am supposed to wear daily – Birkenstocks are a hard habit to break.
My weight has ballooned. The fifty pounds that I lost between January and August last year has found its way back, pound by pound, since last October when I plunged into a deep depression over the sudden death of my beautiful friend and Sorority Sister, Myrica. My diabetes is not as controlled as I would like it to be right now; I have been on steroids twice in the past three months and it jacks with my blood glucose something fierce.
I finally got in to see the gastroenterologist after several months of being denied an appointment with him (they wanted me to see the Nurse Practitioner, no matter how many times I told them I was willing to wait for an appointment with the actual doctor, and simply would not make the appointment). Then some additional snafus occurred after I got the actual appointment with the doctor. It has not been a fun ride – the constant diarrhea over the past year, the nasty and consistent GERD and acid reflux issues nightly, nor the playing games to get the appointment that I wanted and needed. Thus far, I’ve been put on two Imodium daily; I am now taking psyllium fiber each morning in cranberry juice; some medications that I have been on literally for decades have been dropped and three new ones have been added to the long list of what I try to keep up with taking daily. I’ve now been tested for Celiac Disease and the results are normal – for which I am grateful. I have an endoscopy scheduled for December 30, the soonest they could get me in for that. There are other things and other doctors connected to these issues, as well, but I’ll leave all of that for another time.
I broke a crown off of one of my teeth a couple of weeks ago and had to go have it glued back on last Friday. It was more an inconvenience than painful, thankfully. It was placed on the tooth back in 2014. I’m not sure how long those sorts of things are supposed to last, but I guess if I get another eight years out of the glued-back scenario, that will be good. (I did finally finish with the Invisalign adventure a few months ago. The plastic molds make me gag at night, so that bottom tooth is already starting to shift back. What a waste of 3.5 years!)
I got vaccinations on Monday for pneumonia and for shingles – that shingles shot is not for sissies, let me tell you! The injection site is still sore, warm to the touch, and has a huge bump there. Still, I’m sure it’s better than actually getting shingles; there’s a second shot coming in six months.
My eyesight recently is crap, to be perfectly honest. I can’t read road signs at night at all. Everything is blurry, AND I HAVE REALLY SCARY DOUBLE VISION. When my friend Kandy and I drove back from our big day at Ikea in Charlotte this past Tuesday, I spent the last leg of the trip, from Wytheville, VA, to Bristol, TN, crawling along I-81 around 55-60 mph. If you know anything about my driving, you know that this is completely atypical. So now I find myself in need of an optometrist appointment, but am dreading the drive to Christiansburg, VA, to see my doctor to try to figure out what is going on.
I also had a gynecology check-up this past Monday. Thus far, everything seems to be normal with it. Thankfully.
I’m tired of doctors. I’m tired of feeling worn out, run down, and flat-out exhausted all the time. I’m sick of feeling so depressed so often. Turning 50 – or maybe it was standing still for the eighteen months of “intense covid” – really seemed to stop me in my tracks. And I don’t feel like I ever got back into the swing of things after that period. Maybe I never will? But today, I would love to be packing a suitcase to go on a really cool vacation, seven days of rest and relaxation. With no doctors, no diarrhea, and no damned insoles or shoes that restrict my toes and ground my spirit. That’s where I am today…