Before I start my rant, David Lee Roth is the shit. He won in a landslide with 81% of the votes. Good work, Dave!
Don’t forget to vote on this week’s poll!
Last night I felt like crap. I felt like I have 90-year-old bones. I can’t stop peeing. Pretty sure I either have a bladder infection (sorry about the TMI) or diabetes. Seriously, not being a hypochondriac on that one. I took a glucose test about three years and fifty pounds ago, and my score was a 99-100 is the threshold for pre-diabetes and 126 is the threshold for type 2. Two summers ago I passed out at work and my boss called 911. They tested my blood sugar and it was at a 59-normal is between 80-120. Shortly after that I quit and lost my health insurance, so I have never been able to go and re-check. I have a doctor appointment Thursday at a low-cost clinic to try and figure out why I feel like death.
Speaking of doctor appointments…
Wait-speaking of last night first…
So I felt terrible and didn’t want to get out of bed all day. It’s not depression-my psychiatrist appointment is tomorrow (today)-I just have zero energy. I’m not hungry, and if I was, all I would want is Juan Pollo chicken and rice. JP is like a poor man’s El Pollo Loco, and it is amazing. Finally around 8:30pm I put a jacket and shoes on, take my wallet out of my purse, and head down to JP. There’s a line, which is really out of character for this little hole-in-the-wall place. I get to the lady and I order my usual: two pieces of white meat chicken and-
“I’m so sorry! We’re out of white meat!”
What the hell? You’re a chicken joint! Well, what if I order half a chicken instead? Can I do that? “Sure!” Okay, well then I will get half a chicken and a large rice-
“I’m so sorry! We’re out of rice! If you want to wait about twenty minutes…”
What the hell? So I say “arrrgh!” (politely!) and leave to go to El Pollo Loco. A crappy substitute, to say the least.
The El Pollo Loco is closed down. Not closed for the night, it doesn’t even exist anymore. What…the…hell…! I realize I’m not supposed to be eating out this evening, so instead I grab a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup Freeze from Wienerschnitzel. Which actually made me feel about a hundred times worse.
I throw my wallet and jacket on the bed and snack on my Freeze. I’m so tired that I crash around 9:30pm, wake up for a few hours, then go back to sleep so I can be refreshed and ready for my first psychiatry appointment.
I wake up exhausted (ugh), but I KNOW I need to go to my appointment. It took me three weeks to find a low-cost psychiatry place, and another three weeks of leaving message after message to try and schedule an appointment, and ANOTHER three weeks before they had an opening. It was okay though. Going to see the med doctor is a big step. Anyone who has been on medication after medication knows that starting something new and trying to figure out the perfect combination and dosage sucks ass, but I am doing it. Is is a giant leap towards feeling better. I have to go to this appointment.
I transfer money into my account, make a list of my previous prescriptions, grab a book for the waiting room, grab my purse and leave 45 minutes before the appointment time just in case there is traffic or if I get lost-the place is over 30 minutes away. Halfway there I am making good time, and I see a drive-thru Starbucks. I order my drink and shuffle through my purse to grab…my…wallet…
OMFG. I don’t have my wallet.
I am twenty minutes away from home and at least fifteen minutes away from my appointment. I call the place to see if I can still come in, just late. Voice mail. I consider still going to the appointment, but I have no forms of I.D. or no way to pay, PLUS how the hell can a psychiatrist prescribe me any medicine if they can’t even be sure who I even am?
I do a U-turn and head home. I am sobbing.
I am sobbing because this was the day. The day I was supposed to feel better. The day I was supposed to feel better because I was on the right track (baby I was born this way! Sorry, that song popped in my head after I wrote that). Nine weeks down the drain. Nine weeks of hurt and depression that has been so bad my mother considered having me committed. No joke. When I get home I call and call and call the place in the hopes that they can fit me in today somehow, that I can race back over there and see someone and get stuff situated. By the time someone actually answered the phone, it was a half-hour past my appointment time. I apologized and explained what happened (and told them I had left them a voice mail almost an hour ago), and they said they could fit me in.
On April 18.
Fourteen days from now. I f you have ever been depressed, you know that sometimes days feel like years. This is one of those times.
You’ll get it if you know Bipolar.
I was broken down after I hung up. I lay in my bed and slept a couple of hours. When I woke up I put my shoes on, GOT MY DAMN WALLET and went to Juan Pollo for some comfort food.
My only redemption today? The same lady that was working last night recognized me, and I got my food for free.