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Going to the ER

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So I’ve been sick now off and on for about two  months. I kept thinking I was going to get over it, and I’d start to feel a little better, then I’d get worse again. When my friend Rissa came to visit, I could hardly get out of bed and spend any time with her and after she left, it only got worse. now that Buffy is back from Colorado, I have no choice. It’s time to go in. We called the doctor, and the doctor’s office seemed a bit flabbergasted that I hadn’t gone in already. They basically said there was just too much going on at one time for a doctor’s visit to do anything. So the hospital it is. But this doctor can’t do a direct admit, which means I have to go through the ER.

I hate going through the ER. A lot of you guys and gals don’t know it, but with a direct admit, you get to go right to your assigned room and wait until they start doing stuff to you. But at the ER, you have to go through the trauma docs who decide what’s wrong with you and then they decide whether to admit you–EVEN IF the doc has orders. It’s their license and their name, so they have to do the work. That’s just how it is. Which means a lot of really unnecessary poking, prodding and needle punctures.

Also, I’ve never once met an ER doc who has ever even HEARD of CTEPH. I have, EVERY SINGLE TIME, had to explain what it was, and why they can’t give me a fluid bag (something they seem to do with just about everyone as a matter of rote). So while I’m lying there feeling like shit, I have to basically give the doc a lesson about the rare disease carrier that is me.

But so that you guys can understand why I’m going to the ER, here I will give you a short (ha! me, short, hahahahah) answer: (more…)

I Didn’t Want to Lie

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This post has been a long time coming. I’ve written it in my head a million or so times, lying in bed in the early morning hours, but when the time came to write it down, I never managed to do it. Something else would easily distract me, and I’d forget to come back, mostly likely on purpose. I avoided it. But it was always there in the back of my mind and it taunted me as much as the stuff going on in real life, because I was needing to write about real life.

But when I first made this blog, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it if I couldn’t be completely open and honest about the experience I was having with my health. I’ve read so many blog where people try to be upbeat and you can tell it’s not real. Then other blogs where people are pleading sympathy or asking for money, whether they were truly sick or not doesn’t matter. For me, I was only going to do this if I could tell my truth, as I lived it.

And sometimes that truth got pretty dark and depressing. And when it did, it was hard to write about it, because it felt like all I was doing was complaining, like life was miserable and not worth living. (more…)

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