Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Ranting, Venting, and Sundry Issues...

    Great, leaping, sweet, gay Moses!

    Today, my hands feel as though they spent the night having an anvil dropped on top of them again and again and again.  Obviously, this can only mean one thing:  I'm definitely due for another wonderful Remicade infusion, and, after checking my calendar, I can see that I get poked and plugged in this coming Friday.

    Has it been eight weeks already? 

    The funny thing is, I can always tell when I am due, and for the last two weeks, I've begun to notice things really getting inflamed, swollen, and pretty damn sore.  It's certainly distracting as I try to do my scribbling yet find myself focusing more upon the fact that typing is slowly turning into a painful little chore.  Then, before I know it, the thoughts of these aches consumes me, and I can't get a damn thing done other than write about them in the hope of finding a suitable catharsis.  Then, I have to abandon the writing because it just hurts to damned bad to type, and I'm left to just stew with my thoughts and misery.

    I suppose things would be better if the rheumatologist who put me on this stuff wasn't such an ambivalent robot of a woman.  Here's a hypothetical based on some of our recent conversations:
    "Hi doctor," I said not too long ago.  "I think if I went for these infusions every six weeks instead of eight, I'd not have this weird little urge to throttle the life out of you."
    "Nope."  She responded.  "I think you need to go eight weeks because I'm the doctor here, and I know things that you don't."
    "Okay.  Do you know that after six weeks, this stuff, which barely works to begin with, is pretty much is gone from my system, and I'm once again back to where I started?"
    "No," she said.  "But I know other things."
    "Like what?"
    "Math," she said.  "Watch!  I will add to your dosage, and I will do some tricky math to raise it by 200mg." 
    "That's why I'm the doctor."
    The really annoying thing comes when she asks the arbitrary question, "on a scale of one to ten, how bad does it hurt?"

    I always laugh at the question, and I tend to sit there with a blank stare and just ask "where does drinking a lot of whiskey for breakfast so I can get out of bed fall on that scale of yours?" 
    "Okay, so that's a ten?"
    "No.  I think it's a nine.  A ten would be driving over here after breakfast and clubbing you with the empty bottle."
    "So, it's a nine, but you're just not making the face like I have on this cute little chart?  See?  That face is what a nine is supposed to look like."
    "Would it help if I make that face?"
    "It probably would."
    "Your diagnostic skills are astounding."
    "It's an art, really."
    "Yeah," I said.  "It's art that looks like it was crafted by a third-grader with a torturous home life.  But, look!  I can make that face."  [grimace]  "Is that a ten?"
    It's frustrating, and I figure, at this point, the doctor is pretty much better off just asking me how the weather is outside as opposed to any health-related questions since, when I answer them, they just get shrugged off anyway.  That is, unless, she asks, "on a scale of one to ten, how's the weather outside?"

    So, to make a long story short, I suppose things here may be somewhat slow this week as I find myself dealing with some of these annoying aches and doing things to avoid making these aches worse.   But, I will try to post when I can. 



  1. Can she start taking dictation FOR you, then?

  2. I see your doctors in the US are just as smug and ignorant as ours then. Hope the pains ease off a bit. In the meantime, have you tried viavoice for all your typing/typo needs?

  3. Can you get a different Doc? Sometimes it helps to get a Doc you actually like. I hope you feel better.

  4. Dan,

    You are the patient... demand...yes, I said, DEMAND that your infusions be moved closer.  Tell her at 6 weeks your life skills are impacted (work, dressing, etc) and you NEED this to stop.  

    If she refuses, go home get the bottle of whiskey... come back and beat her over the head with it.  

    be well,

  5. The amazing thing is , you would think with them asking you all the questions to begin with they might actually assume at some point you know what your talking about. Otherwise why the hell ask! I know the feeling, I get to the point I can't go without braces for days with my Carpel Tunnel . If I lose feeling in my fingers I'm suppose to wear the braces, with the braces I wish the hell I couldn't feel my fingers because agony is the new norm. Oh but yet I have been told no shots until the pain becomes unbearable. Hello when exactly is it suppose to be unbearable??
    (Hugs) Indigo

  6. I love Dawns comment, but I thought she was going to advise you to drink the whisky, not beat her with it! LOLOLOL

  7. Oh, one last thing. Since I'm on the subject, that monkey looks constipated. :)


  8. I have similar complaints about my robotic doctors. Being that my health problems are thyroid related, I don't usually get asked the ever-popular "Rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10" type question. Instead my endocrinologist asks about my bowel movements. Try as I might, I cannot get used to being asked if my s*** is "well-formed."


  9. if ur Remicade infusions are for crohns disease, go to Jefferson Digestive Disease Institute 215-955-8900 in philadelphia
    thats where u can get the best treatment
    so when ur done messin around with the rheumatologist from hell
    come see us




  10.   That's not a monkey,Em. That's Dan making face number nine. Trust me, you don't wanna see face number ten.

  11. Ha! Paul, I think I laughed so hard I just crapped a brick. How's that for "well-formed!"


  12. Yeah.  You don't want to see my "Ten-Face" Emily.  

    If it helps, though, just picture me taking a bath in lemon juice right after I had a potato-peeler scraped across my nipples.  


  13. I think you need to move to AZ where it is dry & you don't have the darn cold in the winters & humidity! Have you even visited there to see how you feel?