...

[cabbitzilla]

My normal routine nothing-ever-new monthly visit to the rheumatologist was not routine today. The nurse practitioner I regularly see is a very nice lady, and we tend to chitchat through the appointments. She noted that the psoriasis patches on my hands seemed to be doing better; I commented that everything seemed to be healing except the patches in my scalp and the big areas on the bottoms of my feet. That comment resulted in me shedding a shoe and sock... and immediate worry from the nurse.

Over the last four months or so, blemishes of some sort've been appearing on the tops of my feet. I've had skin discolorations in the past, these never -hurt- unless I was up on mock-point for more than a few mins, and I'd just written it off as a side effect of one of the list of meds I take. I switched from sheer stockings and hose to opaques and tights, and forgot about it.

Apparently that was the wrong response to it. Apparently every time I get a little glitch or odd bit, I'm supposed to go running to the doctor with some new obscure malady on the tip of my tongue. Apparently I'm supposed to spend large blocks of time canvassing medical sites and journals diagnosing myself with all sorts of horrid diseases and syndromes and expecting the doctors to confirm it so I can feel sorry for myself. Yes, I do have depression issues, and I mope and wallow a bit, but that's just not what I -do-. I survive. Things hurt me, slow me down, bug the everluvin shit out of me... but nothing kills me. It may sound flippant, but there's an old expression: "God put me here to accomplish a set list of tasks. Until they're done, I'm stuck here." It's the way I've always viewed my life... though I'll admit to having moments where I'm casting around desperately for what must be the last damned task so I can get some rest.

*sigh* Yes, I've moodcrashed. Joy, rapture, ecstacy. Next Friday, the earliest appointment that I could be shoehorned into, I get to go in for bloodwork and possibly a biopsy procedure... because it would seem from the external signs that I've somehow managed to contract vasulitis. I'd never even fucking HEARD of it until today... I stalled around all afternoon, keeping myself distracted so that I wouldn't go look it up. And finally my 'run and find out, learn everything!' mentality beat down my fears and I looked it up.

I now wish I hadn't looked it up. Vasculitis itself is fairly simple, it looks like, the majority of cases cleared up without real issue. I filled a ten day prescription of Prednisone today... another $15 into another med. It makes me grumpy because of the common 'weight gain' side effect, but I imagine I'll live. Nothing else has managed to kill me.

But I really REALLY didn't need ANOTHER God damned thing wrong with me. *sigh* I -so- need a couple shots of good Scotch right now...

TANJ.