Another hard day...

On the morrow (or rather later today), I will have another hard test for me to face. I laughed about it today, though, for a very small spate of time. You see, I was honest with the scheduler about how difficult it would be for me to do. She had to wait until my previous records came in before she could schedule me, and so today she called back to do so.

Scheduler: "How about we just rip that bandaid right off?" 
Myrtle: "Uhm, okay." 
Scheduler: "Good, we will see you tomorrow at 1:00" 
Me:  [Gasp] "Okay."

I did have what I hope to be a good moment, a fruitful moment.  After the third call from the cardiology practice, I decided I should gird my loins and try to make the appointment.  I asked for the woman who was calling for me, but she was at lunch.  I would proffer the loin girding came in my Good Shepherd's perfect timing, because the scheduler I ended up with spent 38 minutes talking with me about the referral, my symptoms, my conditions, and ... my anxieties.  At first, she was thinking to pair me with one doctor, but toward the end, she became very confident that who I needed to be with was a doctor who specializes in electrocardiology and who (it turns out) is rather sought after for his skill with difficult cases.  [Yes, you can snicker at the fact that I am a difficult case before I walk in the door.]  What gave me a wee bit of hope is that she very carefully explained that he very much prefers his patients come in with written notes and questions, so that he can be sure to address their needs in person, rather than afterwards with a nurse on the phone.  He LIKES long missives about this, that, and the other regarding heart feelings, sensations, performance ... and anxieties!  A match made in heaven, eh?

I am fully expecting that, after going through all the same tests I did in 2010 I will end up right back with the bottom line that there is no cure or real treatment for Dysautonomia ... just chasing after things that help the symptoms—in this case cardiac-related ones.  However, since I have a history of heart disease in the family and folk with orthostatic hypotension have a tendency to develop heart disease and the whole tachycardia and being short of breath so much of the time is new (as well as the chest pain that comes and goes I have been actively ignoring), I can see how it is prudent to do all the testing that will mostly likely show it is an autonomic function issue rather than a breakdown of my cardiovascular system on some level. Just in case.

Seeing a male doctor is going to be hard.  Very hard.  However, the scheduler was rather confident we could work things out since I was bold and bald with her about that concern.  It also appears the referral was worded a tad strongly because I only have to wait 3 weeks for an appointment instead of the usual 2-3 months for new patients.  And I am to call if this whole new level of bother with my blood pressure and heart rate and difficulty breathing escalates further so I could be squeezed in somehow.  I am all for waiting, not squeezing.  Waiting means more time for loin girding.

Other than scheduling all the referrals and testing from Friday's appointment in a mere three days, I also managed to remember to finally pick up the new medications that were called in then ... but only because Target's automated system called to remind me that I had forgotten.  I also made a small return—a final, final, final return on the kitchen project—and used that "credit" to buy milk.  I broke down and added some groceries to the cart, despite trying to make it to the end of the month.  I also went ahead and fetched Amos' food, since as near as I can tell I was not going to make it another 10 days with what was left in his bag.

I fainted in the parking lot at my last stop.  A long, hard day.

My sister has been talking about her favorite white chili mix for years and finally sent me several boxes.  I have only had white chili once, and I thought I found it rather tasty.  So, I tried to make it tonight, but I would most definitely grade my first effort a D-.  I think if I put the leftovers on rice, it might be helpful.  Idiot here thought using chicken broth instead of water would be a good idea.  No.  Not. At. All.

Even so, I do not think I can blame the failure on my fatigue, because I sat at the new bistro table for much of the time I was in the kitchen.  As much as I was absolutely certain that 1) I did not need a bistro table and 2) that one would not fit into the kitchen, my interior designer mother was right and I was utterly wrong.  I did need one.

I found this on Overstock.com for just $159 and added the glass table top to it.  It is solid metal since it is for outdoors, so even clumsy Myrtle cannot knock it over.  And, I am rather thankful to note, I have finally stopped tossing trash on the table top.  Moving the trash can from this space took but a few moments physically, but it took weeks and weeks and weeks mentally.  SIGH.

It is difficult not to dread the night before the day, the nights before the hard days.  I did not sleep much at all last Thursday night.  I cannot help but think I shall be awake this night, too.  I suppose, though, there is wisdom in bandaid-ripping scheduling.  Such a practice leaves little time for the devils that plague me to gear up and start a new attack.


I am Yours, Lord.  Save me!