Chapter 38

I wake up. I “carefully” select an outfit. It must allow for an easy off/on as well as a top with the ability to allow blood to be drawn. It’s an asynchronous teaching day so I don’t have to worry about wearing work shoes with no show socks.

The winning outfit? The one I have pretty much been wearing since the pandemic began — black yoga pants, tank top with built-in shelf bra, sweatshirt, low ankle gray socks (naturally gray, not formerly white gray), and sneakers. I pull my wild mass of hair back and apply moisturizer to my dry, haggard face. I’m really pulling out the stops here for my visit with Dr. McHH. I mean I shaved my legs the night before AND I have opted to draw in my eyebrows a little.

It’s an early morning at the doctor’s office. Cool nurse chick and I shoot the breeze and get all caught up on each other’s lives. I quickly change and am relieved I get to keep my pants on this time.

Dr. McHH enters. I quickly assess the outfit. Fitted dress shirt, but no tie. I’m not sure I agree with the choice of brown oxford shoes, but he still looks well dressed. No glasses. Scruff, but no beard. I was not a fan of his glasses and beard phase. Still a McHH.

We quickly get down to business. We mainly talk about medications and my lack of sleep, the harsh body jerking that prevents me from falling or staying asleep. We adjust my gabapentin.

Dr. McHH asks me how I’m doing emotionally/mentally.

“Fine I guess. I mean, I’m not having suicidal ideations.”

Dr. McHH laughs. “Um. That’s kind of a low bar.”

I try to explain. Dr. McHH has seen me depressed. I’ve had suicidal thoughts before. I’ve felt like I was drowning, waves crashing upon me and I couldn’t come up for air.

So is life awesome? Not exactly. But no, I don’t want/need to adjust my anti-depressant.

I help Dr. McHH to make sense of my treatment timeline since I last saw him. Given that I’ve been having a recurrence of strong, uncontrolled jerking, he suggests I talk to Dr. Moves. Sounds good. Cool. We have a plan of action.

The rest of the visit commences as per usual — feel for inflamed lymph nodes, check ears and throat, listen to lungs and heart. Anyone else start to get nervous anytime it seems like their doctor is taking a little too long listening to their chest and back? Then it’s belly, boobs, all done.

Now I’m off to the blood draw — check thyroid, kidney function, and cholesterol. My thyroid stopped working correctly in 2007. Gabapentin can damage your kidneys. And my poor poor cholesterol has been high since I was eight. It fluctuates between high, very high, and dangerously high.

Given my history of fainting and my uncontrolled arm movements, I brace myself for the blood draw. I survive and go home to immediately email Dr. Moves like the good patient I am.

And then it’s a whirlwind of emotions over the next 36-48 hours.

I email Dr. Moves and tell him what’s been going on — my body jerking has ratcheted up again, it’s interrupting my sleep. Dr. McHH wants to increase my gabapentin temporarily. I am surprised when I hear back from him very quickly.

Here is a quick summary of his response:

I’m sorry you are experiencing this. However, since [insert name of specialist I’ve been told I need to see, but they keep delaying due to the pandemic] is no longer at Danish Blueberry, I’m no longer seeing patients with functional movement disorders. You should talk to your primary care. Best of luck!

Motherfucker!!!! What. The. Hell!?! No wonder I haven’t heard from Danish Blueberry. My provider is no longer my doctor, but did not bother to alert me to this fact. The specialized doctor, who every time I called they moved out the date of when she would see patients again, is no longer there!?! Don’t you think that if it was sooooo important that I see this person, maybe they should have told me the name of the new person!?!

I am shaking I am so mad. I can’t believe of little regard I am being shown. I don’t have a lot of options so I make an appointment with new person, Dr. Adequate (this works on so many levels, really).

Still recovering from this major blow, I notice my labs are already back. Thyroid — good. Kidney — good. Cholesterol — dangerously high. At this point, I just collapse and sob. I may be the first person ever to cry upon learning they have high cholesterol.

It’s just not fair. I had high cholesterol when I ate poorly, when I ate well, when I was overweight, when I was on the edge of being underweight. Still now, when I am a healthy weight, walk over 10k steps a day and have a regular weight lifting routine, and rarely eat ice cream, I have high cholesterol.

It feels like a moral failing. I am a bad person because I have high cholesterol. Nothing I do, no special supplement seems to work all the way. Throw in poor health care management by Danish Blueberry, lack of sleep, and constant body jerks, tremors, and stuttering. Not even teaching in a pandemic or trying to create/fix the master schedule for a prek-8 school with covid-19 restrictions could break me.

That’s it. I’m done. I give up. I can’t decide if I want to cry, scream, throw and destroy something. I have found my breaking point and it is apparently high cholesterol.