All right, an update before we head out to hell Houston tomorrow.
Since late August, I've been having debilitating headaches. Puking, passing out, blurred vision, massive pain. Brain spikes on top of the constant 24/7 pain, those are the worst. Gone through so much hydrocodone, I may as well buy stock.
AETNA, the usual asshats, fought and denied against helping me. My neurologist finally got an MRI scheduled, they pissed around, but I finally got the MRI. Say hello to my last several months of life, unable to function or think.
So I call, but the neuro is out of town this week. Perky bright happy chick at the desk knows me well, though, so she checked my chart for me, and said that if the results were normal, she could at least tell me that much.
When she came back, she was nervous and stammering and told me I had to wait for my appointment. That's Tuesday. I called THIS Tuesday. That's me waiting a week for answers.
The MRI found something wrong inside my brain. Part of me is relieved that something was actually found. I know it's not life-threatening, at least not immediately, or I'd already be in the hospital with him out of town.
All but collapsed while Christmas shopping yesterday afternoon as a brain spike hit. Bad one. I'm sprawled in the middle of the store floor, trying not to puke or pass out. It finally fades enough for me to be functional, but of course the regular pain remains.
About midnight last night, the spike returned -- and didn't go away. I don't know how many times I puked, the pain was unbearable, all I did was sit and cry and whimper. DG finally took me to the ER.
NINE FUCKING HOURS in the ER. CT scan, a spinal tap (note: OW), failed IV attempts and a hand all swollen and black. But mercifully, they took the pain seriously. Hellooooo Morphine!
Spinal tap was normal. CT was normal. Whatever is wrong with me only shows up on the MRI.
.... waiting games. I hate them.
So, this is my life right now. Hurry up and wait, while crying from constant pain.
How the hell are you guys doing? *whimper*
Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
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