I've followed instructions. I've been a good girl. I've stayed on the program of IV treatment of refractory migraines for six weeks now. I've lost my job and my medical insurance. The treatment requires I get out of bed, dress, drive into down town, walk around a block size building as the major construction going on right in front of the building does not allow any drop offs, wait to be paged into the back, go through the two to two and half hour long treatment with a bucket in my lap, sunglasses on my eyes against flourescent lighting and ear plugs in my ears against the communal noise, sitting in a chair that really doesn't recline, fighting against the stress the medications puts my body under, only to finally try to walk out and around to meet up on the other side of the building with my ride (if my husband can drive me).
I
met with my regular doctor, she said she'd call the specialist; or get
me an appointment (which is usually a 6-8 wk wait). I never heard
back. My husband saw her yesterday, she asked about me. He explained
under no uncertain terms how the treatment does NOT work for me, how I
spend at least another 24 hours in bed just trying to recover from its
side-effects. How I barely get enough time to do laundry, put a load
in or switch machines before I have to go back to bed. I can barely
sit here looking at the screen to post this. But I need to vent or die.
If she wants me to see this supposed specialist who apparently isn't interested in pain relief at all, from what I've heard, I'll have to fire them both and start over. If I cannot find another insurance company, I might be out in the cold anyway. If I were actually a drug addict, I would have found other ways to get my fix by now. But being a retired cop, I don't do that. I have never been in such incapaciating agony, banging my head against concrete doesn't hurt. And no one professional can or will help. Instead, I am trying not to commit the ultimate sin today, which happens to be my 50th birthday.
