...'My Left Foot'...Continued

Just a head's up, if you didn't read the last entry...this one may not make a whole lot of sense to you. Cutting to the chase ( & in referendum to the previous post) this is what I have learned thus far:

Remedies: When one starts to suffer from an obscure ailment (i.e. Drug Induced Lupus), it is sometimes humorous what one does in an attempt to feel better. For example, 'Icy Hot.' Its available in all sorts of consistencies; a lotion, a patch, a vapor gel (isn't that an oxymoron?). I went for the balm. I rubbed 'Icy Hot' balm on every joint - shoulders to ankles. It felt a little warm at first and I thought, "This is bull shit!" Within ten minutes I was convulsively spasmodic with chills. Henceforth, the 'Icy Hot' went into the trash can. Then there was the electrocution. Upon a Neurologist's urging, I underwent an Electromyogram (EMG) test. My legs were hooked up to electrodes and pulsated with little waves of electrical current. It wasn't as bad as it sounds and as a result the doctor was able to see actual damage to both the outer & inner parts of the nerves in my two feet. And lest I forget to mention the current pain reliever of choice: Paraffin wax. A friend let me borrow her "ParaSpa Plus," a small plastic tub that plugs into the wall & heats up. It can be used as a spa treatment or as a soother for sore joints. Who hasn't dripped wax on themselves or stuck their finger in a mushy burning candle? I know you have. It feels good.

Doctors: Suddenly I'm that person....who's contact list under "D" is dominated by "Dr." The kind of person that can start of a sentence by saying, "My Neurologist said..." The days of yore consisted of visiting a clinic when I had a cold that I couldn't kick. Now I travel to see specialists & the local lab technician called me a "frequent-flyer." I've entered a whole new world that is made up of abbreviated conversations, clear apothecary jars and waiting rooms with uncomfortable chairs & outdated 'People' magazines. By the way, when a doctor's office says; "We'll have your records faxed to Dr.So&So for your upcoming appointment" they are telling a bold-faced lie. And when you limp out of the examination room with bags under your eyes that sink halfway down your cheeks from sleep deprivation, only to whip out your checkbook while the receptionist says: "Have a nice day!" You should vehemently respond by saying: "Really?!" Also, sometimes doctors ask incredibly incendiary questions, such as: "Are you still taking the Minocycline?" I suppose if I was dumb enough to take it for ten years, I could be dumb enough to still be taking it.

Prescriptions: If I were presently ingesting all of the prescriptions that were given and/or suggested to me by doctors; I would be a poster child for the pharmaceutical industry. I'd also more than likely have dribbles of drool dropping from my chin & be falling asleep in public restrooms. In reference to some of those drunken moments of denouncing society, i.e. when you pound your fist down on a table and proclaim things like: "Its a pill for every ill!" Or, "Doctors & pharmaceutical reps are in bed together!" They are true.

While on the subject of the 'ole Rx, there are a couple of instances from the past two months that stick out like a sore thumb. One occurred at work. I stepped outside of the office to chat with a doctor on the phone. After reviewing some blood work, he concluded that he did not have a diagnosis for me and it was suggested that I try Cymbalta. My immediate response was: "Why should I take something if you can't tell me what's wrong with me?" He told me that Cymbalta was generally prescribed for an assortment of aches & pains - most people benefit from it. He attempted to ease my hesitations by saying that I'd probably seen the commercials for the drug on TV....(Not everyone watches TV. And how is mass marketing supposed to LESSEN my concern?). Upon re-entering the office, I did a web search and discovered that Cymbalta is "generally" prescribed for people with depression & anxiety disorders. I then proceeded to have an unbecoming breakdown in front of my coworker. I held my head in my hands and mumbled something along the lines of: "These doctors think I'm crazy!" She very politely conceded that I'm not crazy. She may not be 100% accurate with that assessment, but I will take my small sliver of sanity and run. The Cymbalta outcome? Denied. Thanks anyway.

 And lastly, Perspective: In order to get an accurate perspective on my current state, all I simply have to do is look around. While the core of my nerves may not be accessible, the rabbit ears to my mental state are.  - The Norway tragedy - Across an ocean & countries apart, I catch a glimpse of the anguish on a survivor's face in a photograph and realize that there are tiers of pain that I will never, ever be able to fathom.  Or, I can gain perspective closer to home. In the Neurologist's office. Where I sit, an active young woman, getting my toes pricked by a needle, while I listen to the doctor tell me she thinks I'm getting better....that soon it should all go away. I think of the girl that might enter her office after me. Maybe she's younger. Maybe her nerves won't allow her to walk at all. What would the doctor say to her? You might find this sense of relativity slightly off kilter, perhaps a little morbid. The "what if" approach to life often causes people to lose sight of the present moment...but sometimes it helps keep one foot on the ground too...so we don't float away alone in a hot air balloon with nothing but our own sympathy for company.

I can take one tingly step forward at a time, allowing the occasional electrocution and a few scatterbrained doctors to assist me along the way ("Assist?" Perhaps not. But at least they can provide me with a source of entertainment while I gather my bearings). Now please excuse me while I pick the paraffin wax out from between my toes.