I was never very “fit” in the sense I was never a skinny little size 2. But I had great physical strength. At 10, I could carry about 100 pounds fairly easily. I spent a lot of time outside and loved to run. I would catch just about every illness there was and scrape my knees just as much, but I would heal quickly and everything was fine.
When people define me, they say strength. But, I don’t think they think of emotional strength. They mean physical strength. Now that that has been fading as far as my legs go, which was the strongest part of me. I used to be able to lift my boyfriend. Now it’s hard to carry two frozen lasagnas to the stove, because my legs wobble and it’s like I’m wearing the cursed red dancing shoes.
Unfortunately, it’s a comical jig that’s being played by a jester. Falling is usually inevitable.
With this definition that I’ve believed, for all my life, of this strength… I feel as though I am losing myself; losing who I am. I feel as though, as the things I am expected to do throughout the day become harder to deal with, I don’t know who I think I am anymore.
Perhaps it’s my pride stinking me like a cold whip.
I don’t think anyone believes I am in pain. I don’t think they realize it.
In other news, my appointment with the Neuro-Bozo was unfruitful. Go figure. I tried to call another neurologist, one that’s supposed to be much better. I haven’t gotten a call back yet, but I hope I will soon.
Today, I can already tell is going to be a problem. Last night I couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard I tried because I was in so much pain. This morning, my legs still hurt, but are wobbly, yet stiff and heavy feeling.
Yesterday I was tripping through the store. Things I progressing, and I don’t like it. It makes me worry that my next “episode” -as my mother calls it- might be permanent.
I can no longer feel the ground I walk on at all, even when I attempt to stomp my feet. Down here in the boonies, that’s quite dangerous. My foot got caught in a hole recently and I had to use mostly my arms to get it loose. I was walking my big dog, who helped by sitting next to me and waiting. I think he thinks we can help each other through our “illnesses” as I see many people call polyneuropathy.
My pooch might have epilepsy. He had a grand maul seizure once and I’ve been giving him medicine every day and night. Not one since, but he seems to be concerned with everything after the incident.
Next week I go to see the incompetent doctor my primary sent me to once again, to gain any results and papers I can. Then, I will be calling a well-rated neurologist in my usual doctor-stop of 3 hours away.
I’ve done research both online and in a few books. I plan on obtaining more when I get the chance. These doctors aren’t going to tell me that nothing is wrong. I’m sick of hearing it. I’m struggling every day just to hope I can still move in the morning. If that was them, they would be raving at anyone who would listen and demanding something for it, and then compensation for the length of time to get it.
How many times do people have to console me from the ground before someone admits something is wrong? Is it that difficult? I didn’t even know I had polyneuropathy until I kept reading in my records “has history of” and got curious. Now, on a race to figure out when, why and how, many doctors are going to be finding me as a demanding annoyance. A ghost that constantly calls and pokes and checks up on every little thing.
Doctor’s today need to learn that they work for the patient, not the other way around. Do not hold back information, do not say nothing is wrong just because you don’t know how to deal with it or don’t want to. It’s about the patient’s health. Not your paycheck. Get over it.
My nightmare last night was strange to me to say the least…
It started out with me being surrounded by children (all not mine, I’d like to add) and another woman, who was helping. We were all outside this large building star gazing and watching fireworks.
Suddenly, in the street, I see a dark figure. I go over to tell the woman about it, and the man came over insisting he was two of the children’s father. The woman was on the phone, trying to get a hold of the police. Suddenly, more men showed up and started yelling that they get off the phone. I grab a nearby blunt object and tell the children to run inside and lock the doors and windows, and not to look outside.
I remember hitting the man claiming to be a father with the blunt object once before I was scooped up and carried inside. It wasn’t someone I didn’t know, and I was calm, but when I heard the other men yell to let them in, I realized I couldn’t move my legs. The kids huddled around me and clung on, we were in the basement and I heard faint sirens. Then I heard a crash, and I forced myself awake.
When I woke up, it was more like tremors than shaking. I’m still trying to catch my breath. I still feel a little scared.
And it doesn’t help today is the anniversary of a loved one’s death…
But what could this nightmare mean?
Heading to my doctor to get my Medical Records to see exactly who, when, and why I was diagnosed with polyneuropathy and was never told anything about it. I looked into it a bit, and apparently that’s where I need to start.
After I get these things sorted, I will be making an appointment – you guessed it! – 3 hours away. Back to the city where I want to scream in both anger and terror as people attempt to drive each other off the road.
It’s going to be one hell of a ride, yet again. Will continue to update.
After many, many phone calls today, I actually managed to get an earlier appointment for my neurology appointment!!!
I’m pretty sure my primary’s receptionist was upset I did it my damn self. Her explanation for why I hadn’t been called in the last month was she “hadn’t checked it in a while.”
When I told her about my set appointment, there was pure silence on the other end for a good half a minute before she asked when my appointment was.
If you’re not going to do your job, I’ll do it myself!!! Obviously you don’t care enough about the patient to try!!!