Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Right Now, It's About Me.
I never thought I would actually pray to have surgery. "Please, please operate." That is how much pain I am in. The Vicodin just dulls everything and turns things slo-mo. As Scratch puts it, I'm some kind of stoner version of myself.
I'm also really, really disappointed in the medical system - my insurance is great, but everything takes a week. So, I just keep taking more pain killers until I can get to step 2, then step 3, then maybe it will go away? And the worst part is, I am TERRIFIED that this thing will go away on its own before I get to step 2, or 3, or whatever. Like, it was all a dream and it exploded and there's nothing anyone can do about it so smell ya later. Like I was faking it.
I'm terrified of being looked at as a faker. I faked sick a lot at school the year my dad died. I wasn't really much of a faker since, but it haunts me. My mom was always suspicious of whether or not I was sick - probably not because she didn't trust me as much as she didn't want to deal with taking me to a doctor or having to miss work. I understand more now, as an adult, how that might mess up your day. But even in the ER on Saturday, I was terrified the doctor would come in, sigh, and say "I couldn't find anything." or worse, "You baby! You're lucky with what you've got! Suck it up, sister!"
Which is what brings me to the next 4 hours, where I will be bravely joining a conference call from home - then another conference call, and then finally at 4:00 I go for an ultrasound. Pray for surgery! Then this will be over and I can stop hurting!